Ice Crux
by Hermione Prime
Summary: The Boy-Who-Lived didn't exist. Voldemort attained the final victory. As a feared authoritarian figure, he rules the Wizarding World and Hogwarts in the shadows. And when a magically talented Harry Potter arrives at Hogwarts, he attracts the unwanted attention of the Dark Lord. Following a magnificent duel Harry is blackmailed into becoming his second apprentice.
1. Victory's Third Anniversary

**A new regime. A darker era. A stronger generation. The Boy-Who-Lived did not exist. Voldemort attained the final victory, and thus, gained limitless power. As a feared authoritarian figure, he rules both the wizarding world and Hogwarts in the shadows, killing without restriction. Anyone declared to be treacherous is condemned to death. ****When a talented Harry Potter, brimming with impressive potential, arrives at Hogwarts, he attracts the unwanted attention of the Dark Lord. Following a magnificent duel, Harry is blackmailed into becoming Lord Voldemort's apprentice. Forced to confront his fate, Harry attempts to tread the dangerous waters of a Pureblood hierarchy. A tale weaved around jealousy, fate, victory, hatred, love, angst, and above all, ambition.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never be mine. I can only wish.**

**This will not be romance, and will definitely not be SLASH. It's a mentorship between Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter.**

* * *

He strode elegantly across the ballroom, the handsome young man, keeping to the gloom. He appeared to be in his late twenties, at the very most. His flawless face with its prominent cheekbones and beautifully sharp features was half hidden by the dancing shadows cast by the flickering wall-torches, yet something did not ring true.

His mouth twisted faintly on that pale skin as he brooded, silently. The cold blue eyes, like pools of swimming ice shards, seemed to have a sense of cruelty to them, yet despite the man's relaxed appearance, they were vigilant. The dark hair, combed smoothly back, gave a refined look. He looked perfect…_too_ perfect – in an almost _sinister_ sort of way.

There was an air of sophisticated authority in the way he held himself that even the most oblivious of people would distinguish.  
To an ignorant observer, it would seem as though the young man went completely unnoticed; the swirling dresses and preened black dress robes moving to the slow and melodious music on the dance floor catching most of the attention. To the experienced eye of Lucius Malfoy, however, it was obvious that every one in the room was only too conscious of the young man. He saw the guests subtly flicking glances at the figure in the shadows; every time the young man moved at least one person would involuntarily flinch. Lucius didn't even think of blaming them.

After all, that one young man was why they were all here. He was the solitary reason why anybody was here; not just at the ball – but the _thing_ as a whole. Lucius' own position as the Minister of Magic had been arranged by the man. And, Lucius knew, Bellatrix's new job as Hogwarts' recently appointed Deputy Headmistress was entirely owed to him. Lucius snorted inwardly to himself; Bellatrix would not have resorted to teaching children for anyone but the Dark Lord. If it wasn't for the Dark Lord, none of them would be sitting on such top stations in the wizarding world. In fact, they'd more likely be sitting on the rotted floors of the cells of Azkaban.

Lucius, in his entire life, had never been more honoured to serve anyone as he did the Dark Lord. As he had promised, the Dark Lord had brought them a triumphant victory. They had crushed Dumbledore and his stupid Order. Lucius now smirked as he recalled all of this, still relishing in the glory of that one moment. It would never grow old for him.

It hadn't been easy, of course, which only made their victory sweeter. There had been harsh times – when Dumbledore had been on the very verge of winning, when nearly the entire Inner Circle had been imprisoned in Azkaban, when Voldemort's desperate plotting had taken over his nights – but in the end, Lucius thought, they had pressed on and it had all been worth it.

Luckily, he, himself, had never been captured and sent to Azkaban. One look at Bellatrix and one thought of all she had endured in the wizarding prison sent Lucius recoiling. If a few years had taken so much out of the Dark Lord's best lieutenant, he hated to think what it would have done to himself.  
Yes. He was lucky, very lucky. Lucius swept his eyes across the room; Rodolphus, McNair, Rabastan, Bellatrix, the Carrows, Rowle, Crabbe, Goyle… These few years, after their supreme attainment, had been their greatest moments of glory. It couldn't have been better.

Lucius smiled. Draco, this year, was going to Hogwarts. Draco, at the tender age of eleven, would experience a new era that was bright with the shining potential the Dark Lord planned. His son was even luckier than himself. The timing was perfect.

Thinking back to the Dark Lord, Lucius frowned in bewilderment. This was a celebration – one that Voldemort had arranged, no less. Why was the Dark Lord spending the entire time skulking in the shadows, then? Bellatrix, his Inner Circle, and Lucius himself, were all waiting for the Dark Lord to join them. It certainly wouldn't do for the Dark Lord to think that he, Lucius, had forgotten all about his master. Halting at that thought, Lucius cautiously stepped towards the dark figure that was the most powerful sorcerer of all time.

**…**

"My Lord…" Lucius murmured softly, stopping at a respectful distance. "We're all waiting for your magnificent presence."

Voldemort, in all his icy glory, looked up at Lucius. Then to the Death Eater's immense horror, narrowed his eyes.

"Complaining, Lucius?" Voldemort hissed. "Are you taking for granted the presence I _grace_ you with? Do I _have to_ do it nowadays?" He laid delicate stress on the words. Lucius withdrew, trying to maintain his composure. "Of course not, my Lord! I was merely suggesting that perhaps you'd like –"

"Of course not," Voldemort repeated. "I have no obligations whatsoever that I owe to my Death Eaters. And you'll do well to remember that."

"Yes, my Lord…I understand. But just tonight… this is the third anniversary since your magnificent victory… I thought perhaps, since you called this celebration, that you'd…" Lucius stopped abruptly.

He knew he should have retreated. But perhaps his mind wasn't in its usual coherent state – perhaps he'd had too much to drink that night… Whatever it was, Lucius cursed himself as soon as he spoke those impudent words.

Voldemort didn't like those who were pushy. And least of all, those who were pushy towards _him_. Obviously, no one in their right mind would dare be forceful with Lord Voldemort, which was why Lucius knew he was in trouble. The term 'pushy' suggested assertiveness and although Lucius hadn't quite been assertive, he knew it made little difference to the Dark Lord.

"Tut, tut, Lucius. I've long ago realised I'm been too lenient with you ever since…how did you put it again? Oh, yes, my 'magnificent victory'. But I didn't think I would need to redeem my leniency so soon. Perhaps I was _wrong_."

Lucius Malfoy barely hid a gulp as his eyes crept towards the long and spidery fingers that casually twirled the Dark Lord's yew wand.

"Think about that, Lucius." Voldemort chuckled softly. "Ironic, isn't it? The _great_ Lord Voldemort being something as belittling as _wrong_. But…_when_ I truly am wrong, I make sure I am correct _next time_."

Lucius avoided that cold pair of piercing eyes that seemed to look through him stonily with ease.

"Look at me, Lucius…" Voldemort said.

Lucius forced himself to look into that handsome face. It was so young. With a few features so similar to the Dark Lord's former snake-like appearance, yet so different. After their long-awaited victory, Lord Voldemort had made himself a potion so advanced that he had managed to regain the striking look that he owned before his Horcruxes were made. It wouldn't do for him to look so _menacing_ now that the wizarding media interviewed him at least once a month.

"Do you think I should correct you, Lucius? You're becoming too demanding. Can't have my reputation as a somewhat _strict_ overlord ruined, after all." Voldemort's pronouncement hung in the air, daring a challenge.

"That – that won't be necessary, my Lord," Lucius stammered. "I…please forgive my rudeness."

"Lord Voldemort doesn't forgive, nor forget," Voldemort answered. "Remember that."

"Of course, My Lord."

"Do you think I should punish you in front of our guests?" the Dark Lord inquired quietly. "It will make for a good drama."

Lucius knew he wouldn't ever forget what Lord Voldemort was like, even with that handsome look that had, or so he'd heard, charmed so many of the girls at Hogwarts. For someone who had never personally experienced Voldemort's Cruciatus Curses, it would indeed be easy to forget, and be captivated by the Dark Lord's charm. Lucius was charmed too at times, but that didn't mean he ever would forget.

Voldemort was one of those rare people whose charisma alone could be so persuasive that the young and old, male or female would want to do everything in their capacity for him. Lucius knew his master would be able to make a crowd of a million people do his bidding without a single use of the Unforgivables. The Dark Lord however, was extremely fond of persuading his followers using more direct means than natural charm.

"Please, my Lord…I didn't mean any harm. Forgive me."

"So it was a mistake? A mere slip of the tongue?"

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius confirmed.

"Hmm…I do not tolerate mistakes. You know that by now."

"Yes, my Lord. I promise you, I won't do it again."

"I know you won't," Voldemort smiled. "But tonight…I think I'll…"

Lucius awaited the inevitable punishment with dread. He marvelled at how Voldemort could make several seconds seem like a century.

"Tonight, with so many guests here…I do not think I will. It might ruin the festive spirit. I would not want to be a killjoy," Voldemort said.

Lucius stared, almost speechless with relief.

"Are you going to thank me at all?"

Lucius hurried to express his gratitude.

"You're dismissed, Lucius," Voldemort called shortly. There was a hint of amusement to his voice, however. "Remember that Lord Voldemort does not forgive, nor forget."

Lucius' relief dimmed a little at the ominous warning. He half expected a Cruciatus Curse to come flying at him while his back was turned. With Lord Voldemort, you could never be sure of anything.

—0O0—

"My loyal Death Eaters…" Voldemort called.

A thick silence immediately fell among the guests.

"After some polite _demands_ from one of you, I have decided to address you. This is the third anniversary of our victory, as all of you know only too well. I myself am very thrilled. However, I confess myself disappointed at the small number of you who have completed the missions that I requested of each of you."

The silence became suffocating.

"I, personally, wouldn't want people thinking that while my followers are so adept at dealing with the more violent missions concerning assassination, they become incompetent idiots when it comes to the more sophisticated politics. And I know none of you are idiots. Great Britain does not need any more mindless fools. I will start vanquishing them myself if their numbers do not diminish sometime soon. And while I object to idiots no matter where they belong, Lord Voldemort objects most to having idiots in his campaign."

Everyone heard the veiled threat only too well. Voldemort probably wasn't incapable of killing off those followers who were too weak to be of much use. McNair visibly shivered.

"I will be dealing those who have still not accomplished what I expected of them at our next meeting. We must not spoil the little parties that we only hold once in a while."

Voldemort smiled to himself as he watched a few unfortunate members of the crowd tense even more. Alas, he had achieved what he wanted, because most of the guests relaxed noticeably. It wouldn't do for them to be so tense on this night, that they wrecked it for him. Despite that he'd never admit it, he actually looked forward to these anniversaries.

"I'd like to thank Lucius for being a generous host tonight, allowing this anniversary party to take place at Malfoy Manor, and I'd also like to congratulate him on gaining the position of Minister for Magic only seven or eight months ago. It is very useful for our cause."

Down below, the crowd stirred. Every one of them knew that the position had been bestowed upon Lucius by Voldemort who pulled a few strings.

"Isn't that right, Lucius?" Voldemort smiled. "Narcissa will be pleased. As well as young Draco."

"Thank you, my Lord, for your kindness," Lucius said.

The Dark Lord waved a hand at the people for them to calm themselves before continuing.

"I'd also like to congratulate Bellatrix for becoming the deputy headmistress. It is quite an accomplishment. Did I tell you I didn't even manage to get a Defence Against the Dark Arts position when I tried out for it? The old codger thought I'd taint the minds of his innocent students."

A few people laughed. The loudest of all of them was Bellatrix's own cackle.

"I won't be congratulating Alecto Carrow for becoming headmistress of Hogwarts, because I already did so two years ago. However, I must express to you all how good it is for three of my proud Death Eaters to work at the school I myself grew up in. Bella, don't look so depressed."

Bellatrix flushed at Voldemort's joke. A couple of Death Eaters tittered.

"Let's not forget out dear Potions master. I offered the DADA position to him earlier this year, knowing how much he wanted it, but our dear Severus decided he'd stick to Potions. I understand his decision entirely – after all, it is where his greatest talents lie. After Severus' refusal, I turned to Alecto and she took up the extra burden."

Voldemort glanced at Snape, who nodded courteously up at him in acknowledgement.

"One thing I'm very much looking forward to is to see the newest talents at Hogwarts. Alecto, reserve a seat for me at the staff table at the Welcoming Feast, will you? I'll be taking a look at the latest potential in Slytherin House. I'll be spending a lot of time at Hogwarts this year, with all the political games under control. They can get terribly annoying sometimes. Alecto, Bellatrix, Severus, report any notable behaviour to me; I'll be very interested. Alecto, Muggle Studies and Dark Arts are both still mandatory? Splendid."

Voldemort's eyes suddenly glistened as he came to the thing he had waited the whole evening to finally say. "Bellatrix and Severus, stay behind when it's over. We need to talk about our…ah… _newest possible additions_. Things have taken an urgent tone. It is beginning to look slightly critical for _my_ further advances. Guests, enjoy yourselves for the rest of this lovely evening."

With that said, the Dark Lord moved gracefully across and out of the ballroom, his black robes flapping behind him. The huge double doors banged shut, leaving behind only a tint of the dark aurora that had been so stifling.

Severus Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange would spend the next few hours anxiously wondering what was in store for them.

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**I work try harder if my writing does not satisfy. And I will also try to answer any questions my readers have so far. I welcome any kind of feedback. I'd like reviews, please. I hate spending hours writing only to receive 0 reviews. The 0 keeps repeating itself: 0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0.  
A round of thanks to anyone who will give this a chance.  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never be mine. I can only wish.**

**This story is presently under reconstruction; because recently I've gained an absolutely wonderful Beta whom I have to thank for all that has been improved. His name is Hippothestrowl. This may be why some titles, such as 'Death Eaters' will not match with those later in the story (I changed 'deatheaters' to 'Death Eaters'). **


	2. The Stiff Voice

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never be mine. I can only wish. **  
**Please review, I'm very happy with those of you who have already reviewed...but like every author, I'd love more.**

**I've posted the new version edited for me by my kind Beta. As a consequence, there may be some changes.**

* * *

The Dark Lord was sitting in the lamp-light at his mahogany desk, reading a book on the Dark Arts. At the same time, he was musing. Consequently, the pages of the book hadn't turned once for the last half hour.

"Come in, Severus, Bella," Voldemort uttered as soon as he heard the light taps on the door.

The knocks ceased and the door opened with a lengthy, abnormally loud creak. Snape winced at the sound.

"You're three minutes late, both of you."

"We apologise, my Lord," Snape answered smoothly. "We were held up."

Bellatrix nodded in agreement, her hooded dark eyes focused entirely on Voldemort. "Forgive us."

Voldemort ignored them and stood up, walking over to the window.

"My Lord? What is it that you wanted us to…?" Bellatrix trailed off at the Dark Lord's sharp glance.

"All in good time, Bella." The darkest wizard in the room abruptly reached out a hand and drew back the curtains, revealing the twilight sky in the distance that signalled the end of yet another day. "Towards the north, Severus, in that direction –" Voldemort gestured vaguely, "– lies the strong fortress of Hogwarts."

There was a ringing silence. Snape stiffened.

"You see, despite my own achievements and new focuses, Hogwarts has never strayed far from my mind. She is growing, in both size and power; the talent inside her is growing…quicker than I could ever have imagined." Even Bellatrix, who prided herself on knowing the Dark Lord best, had no idea what he was getting at.

"She, Hogwarts, has a _flair_ for…producing the most promising young wizards and witches. The potential within her is plentiful."

Bellatrix and Severus traded glances, each forming the same ideas about what the Dark Lord would say next.

"Therefore, out of the hundreds of potential students, there has to be someone special. Someone whose inner magical core is superior to the others'. There _has_ to be someone," Voldemort said.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix protested suddenly. "You _can't _be thinking of that so early on!"

"Be quiet, Bella. Severus? Anything to add?" Voldemort sneered.

"No, my Lord," Snape replied, inwardly cursing Bellatrix for her stupidly chosen words. For all he was concerned, she was entirely responsible if Voldemort's mood swung towards the nasty side.

The Dark Lord turned to Bellatrix again. "Would you like to elaborate, Bella? Your outburst, despite its rather grating nature, tells me hardly anything of your thoughts."

Snape inhaled in exasperation as Bellatrix seized the chance and launched into a lengthy explanation. She never seemed to realise when enough was enough.

"I mean no disrespect, my Lord –"

"Of course not," reassured the Dark Lord, with thinly veiled sarcasm.

"It's just that when you informed us of this a year earlier, we didn't know you planned on taking on someone so early…"

"Like I said before, Bella, the urgent tone things have taken forces me to shift this to an earlier time. I do hope you're not too unhappy about this."

"Of course not, my Lord. It's just that taking on an apprentice can be a rather big burden. He, or she, will be a mere child. Children can be slow learners, and they're unusually defiant," Bellatrix said.

"Well, the child we choose will have to be a fast learner then, won't he? I'm not as incompetent as some people think as to pick a Squib for a protégé."

"I didn't mean –"

"My Lord, would you like a male or female?" Snape interrupted Bellatrix smoothly in mid-sentence. He was rewarded with a baleful glare from the female.

"I do not mind either way. It is wonderful to see you're relatively more compliant."

"And does blood status matter, my Lord?"

"As long as it's not a Mudblood."

"Would you prefer someone older, my Lord?"

"A seventh year would be best."

Bella watched jealously as Voldemort explained his requests to Snape.

"I give you one year. One year maximum. Find me a few possible candidates for my mentorship. If he has parents, then get rid of them. I'd like to gain full guardianship on the child."

"When will we start searching?" Snape asked.

"As soon as the school year begins."

—0O0—

"Boy! Get up! Make sure breakfast is ready in ten minutes!"

Harry Potter jolted awake under his flimsy covers as Uncle Vernon's bellow rang through the door to reach his ears. He hurried to find his grey, moth-eaten socks, and Dudley's overlarge t-shirt that fell down to his knees. There was a scared spider nestled in the fabric of the grey socks. Harry flicked it away before putting them on.

"Coming, Uncle Vernon!" He shouted as he opened the door of his cupboard.

**…**

Uncle Vernon's face was the shade of puce by the time Harry had reached the kitchens.

"It's been three minutes already, boy! No breakfast for you. Well? What are you waiting for? Hurry up!"

Harry scuttled for the pan and the eggs. He had just turned on the stove when Dudley came waddling in like a whale who was suffering a severe case of obesity.

"G'morning, Cousin! Where's my breakfast?"

"Shhh, Dudders. Breakfast will be ready in a short while," Aunt Petunia soothed as she too walked through the door. When Dudley had taken a seat at the table, beside Vernon whose fat nose was buried in the newspaper, Aunt Petunia turned to Harry.

"Hurry up, you little prat! When will it be done?" she snapped.

"Soon, Aunt Petunia."

"Is it ready?" Dudley piped up again.

"Not yet, Dudders. But it will be," Petunia cooed.

Then silence fell, and Harry got to scramble the eggs in relative peace.

However, a few moments later, Dudley was impatient again. "Is it ready yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling slightly annoyed.

"Get on with it, Boy!" Vernon roared.

"Is it ready yet?" asked Dudley yet again.

"No yet," said Petunia.

"When _will_ it be ready?" Dudley yelled.

"As soon as the word 'never' appears on the calendar," Harry retorted. He couldn't help it.

"If you don't shut up and get it done, I'll lock you in your cupboard until Christmas, I swear to God!" Vernon blathered.

That comment sobered Harry up a little. It wasn't an entirely empty threat, he knew.

For as long as Harry could remember, he had been living with his Aunt and Uncle, and 'Dudders'.

He had been handed chores as soon as his age hit three. Harry's typical weekends would be spent gardening, and washing, dusting and cooking, wiping windows and doing Dudley's homework (if Dudley had brought any back). When Uncle Vernon wanted it, Harry would also be called down to the garage to wash his car. Sometimes, Harry would imagine a day when his parents would come and take him away with them, away from this hellhole. That dream lasted until Uncle Vernon had kindly informed him that his parents were dead from a car crash. Harry couldn't wait to grow up and get a job and move away from his devil relatives. They treated him worse than one should treat mud.

Who locked an eleven-year old boy in a cupboard? Who fed a growing boy a few pieces of bread a day? Who made a young boy do all the chores in the house? Who verbally abused that boy whenever they felt like it? Harry knew the answers to all of that.

He honestly didn't know which god he had insulted to deserve relatives like these.

Harry wanted to become a lawyer. He didn't know if he would have the skills to become one, but he knew he was going to take up legal studies in college. Or he could become a teacher. That job seemed nice. Surrounding himself with children every single day, _and_ get paid. Uncle Vernon said his ambitions would be for nothing – that he'd become a good-for-nothing crook. Harry knew he would not end up like that, if only just to spite his uncle.

Harry snuck out of the kitchen to his bedroom after Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley had started eating. He wasn't going to stay around like some begging dog, watching hungrily out of his eyes.

Harry snatched up one of the few books he owned from a shoebox. He had only gotten to Page Twenty when a loud series of knockings came from the front door. Then, there was shouting. A lot of shouting. Harry thought he could hear the words.

"Is Mr Potter here? Harry Potter?"

It was a very stiff voice, Harry thought, as if the man who the voice belonged to never smiled.

"Who are you, dear sir?" Uncle Vernon yammered.

"Never you mind."

Harry suppressed a smile; it wasn't often that someone would talk to Uncle Vernon like this.

"Now look here, sir, this is _my_ house. Legally speaking, you're trespassing –"

Harry missed out the next bits… and then:

"Get out of there! What are you doing?"

There was the sound of a chair falling, and Aunt Petunia crying, "Good Lord!"

"You're one of those people! Those freaks!"

Harry frowned curiously. Normally, Uncle Vernon was unusually polite to strangers. And he only called Harry a 'freak'. What Harry wouldn't do to know what was going on!

More banging could be heard.

"Keep your hands off me or I'll blast your fingers off and shave them into potion ingredients," warned that stiff voice.

"What –?"

"On second thoughts," the voice snarled, "I'd rather not. The fat from your fingers will probably ruin the whole potion."

"Look, even I know you stupid wizards have things like…wizard laws and wizard lawyers! Even you freaks have to follow rules. You can't just go around doing things like this!" Aunt Petunia screamed as the sound of window shattering reached Harry's ears.

Harry blinked. Had he misheard? Wizards and wizard laws and wizard lawyers?

"Actually," the stiff voice sneered, "I have come here under the consent of the Minister of Magic, and under Wizarding Law 874. '_Magical students must be escorted safely to wizarding schools notwithstanding dire consequences. Threats and obstacles must be removed_.'"

Harry lurched across and pressed his ear to the door, eager to listen to the words more clearly.

"But, but Lily said otherwise! Bad wizards go to the wizard prison!" Harry could hear the high-pitched panic in his aunt's voice.

"This is a new era, Mrs Dursley. A new era where Muggles such as yourself have no rights in our society. By the command of Hogwarts _and_ the Ministry, open your cupboard door!"

Harry leapt back. The man was right outside his room! The shuffling outside was incredibly loud now.

"You have no right to come and break down our doors!" Dudley shrieked from the kitchen.

"_Alohomora!_"

The door flew open and Harry stared up at the man. He was wrapped in billowing black robes. Harry felt strangely intimidated.

"You're Mr Potter."

There it was, the stiff voice again.

"Yes," Harry whispered hoarsely.

"Then, you're coming with me."

Harry suddenly found himself with a question he desperately wanted to ask. "Are you my dad?"

From the stunned look on the man's sallow face, Harry guessed that he was not. His heart sank – but it had been worth a try.

* * *

**Tell me what you think, please. **

**Many thanks to my Beta, Hippothestrowl!**


	3. Foreboding

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**This chapter is unusually long for me. I'm sorry if the next chapters won't be this length.**

**Oh, and this story is under re-construction.**

* * *

Crouched within his cupboard, Harry cringed from the man who stood menacingly at the threshold, demanding to take him away.

The man grimaced, as if Harry's question was too absurd to merit a sensible answer. "Am I your father! I don't think so, no," he said sarcastically. "Perhaps if you had taken a look at the differences between our appearances you'd be able to tell for yourself. I wonder if you would've asked the same question if I had walked in with pink hair."

Harry was taken aback. This man had treated him to a stinging jibe without even getting to know him. "Oh," was all he managed.

"Come, boy. Don't dawdle like such a dimwit. Pack your trunks," the man said curtly. "And hurry up."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

"Ask no questions, and I will not have to cut out your tongue and feed it to the Dark Lord's snake."

"What? _Whose_ snake?" Harry said incredulously.

"_Just pack your trunks_," the man hissed.

"Right." Harry busied himself with stuffing the few clothes and books that he owned into a bag while the man waited impatiently by the door. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had both taken refuge in the kitchen with Dudley.

"Is that all you have?" asked the man, eyeing the bag suspiciously.

Harry flushed. "Yes," he said defensively.

"Hmm." As the man stood aside from the doorway to let him out, Harry shot a question at him. "What is your name?"

"What is your name, _sir_," the man corrected, sneering. "To you, I will be known as Professor Snape."

"Are you a professor? _Sir_?" Harry added, as Snape shot him a pointed look.

"I _do_ believe that is what the term suggests," said Snape slickly.

By now, Harry was feeling oddly defiant. His Uncle always bullied him like this. Now that he was finally getting away with them, he was not going to have someone else take Uncle Vernon's place. "I _know_ what the term means."

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. "Well, since you're all packed like a good boy, I do believe it is time for us to take our leave."

"Right," Harry agreed, disregarding the taunt. "And exactly where are we going?"

"Ask no questions and I will not have to cut out your tongue and feed it to the Dark Lord's snake," Snape repeated.

"I'm not going anywhere with you if I don't know where we're going. You say you're a professor, but you may well be a kidnapper."

"Paranoia." Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Caution," Harry retorted. As he watched the professor take several deep breaths to calm himself, he realised not many people dared to speak to him like this.

"Very well," Snape settled grudgingly, "I'll inform you along the way."

—0O0—

They had booked in at a hotel called the Starlight a few hours before, and by now, Harry's brain was whirling at top speed, trying to absorb everything the professor had told him. It was so impossibly fantastic that it couldn't possibly be true, although the somewhat realistic logic of the very complicated details said otherwise. However, Harry was not going to take Snape's word for granted. "Prove it."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "I have no obligation to give in to your demands."

"Sorry, sir. I meant will you please show me? Sir?" Harry asked, amending himself.

"And I was beginning to think you did not know the dictionary definition of 'courtesy'," Snape derided. Nonetheless, he brandished a long, wooden stick from his sleeve and jabbed it at a pot of flowers standing in the corner in reply. "_Reducto_!"

The pot exploded into little pieces. The flower did the same. Harry eyed the stick, half disbelieving, half in awe. "That was brilliant, sir."

Snape snorted. "That was basic magic, Mr Potter."

"Incredible."

"Incredible or not, I do believe that's enough for today. Go to your room and catch some sleep. Tomorrow I will take you to Diagon Alley for your school supplies. After that, I will put you on the train that will deliver you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… the procedure has changed a little."

"What do you mean? _Sir_?"

"Three years ago, the students would go back to their own homes after the visit to Diagon Alley until the day comes for everyone to board the Hogwarts Express. Now, students are put onto the train as soon as they've collected their needed things."

Harry was listening with an enraptured expression.

"We have to hurry because the train leaves tomorrow. Most students get their supplies weeks earlier than this. The Feast will begin as soon as your group arrives."

"That's amazing…" Harry breathed. He was finding all this talk of magic schools and witchcraft rather staggering to believe all in one go.

"To the simple, stupid mind of a child, everything and anything is amazing," Snape said.

Harry scowled; why on earth did the professor have to have the habit of sending snide remarks at something or another every once in a while?

"What about –?" Harry was interrupted before he even got to the third word.

"_To bed_. Even if _you_ do not need rest, _I_ do."

"Fine." He glared, and stomped into his bedroom. It was a real bedroom this time, not a cupboard. To Harry, who had never stayed at any hotel in his life, their room seemed quite luxurious, with separate sleeping accommodation and their own bathrooms.

As Harry lay back in his bed, he reviewed the day's events. Snape had delayed explaining until after they had first showered and dined but it had been worth the wait. It was the start of a new life and new opportunities. He snuggled under his soft blankets and let out a happy sigh. This was wonderful, perfect – beyond any life he had ever imagined for himself.

—0O0—

"You need _school_ robes, Mr Potter, not these fancy, party ones with _pink lace_."

Harry sighed; he'd thought once they were in Diagon Alley, Snape would stop harassing him about the smallest of things. Unfortunately, he appeared to be wrong. "But the party robes look so cool!"

"Improper? Inappropriate? Befitting for you?" Unflattering words spurted from Snape's mouth.

"No. They're just so different."

"Obviously. You're practically in another world from your Muggle life. They are like chalk and cheese."

"This will take some getting used to."

"Which you'll do perfectly fine at, I'm sure," said Snape dryly. "Children adapt exceptionally quickly. Though, personally, I do not know whether that is a drawback."

Harry ignored that comment and continued looking through the party robes.

"What size are you?"

Harry looked up in surprise. "Umm, I don't really know."

"What has the world come to?" Snape scorned.

"I don't know."

"For _Merlin's sake_, just get to Madam Malkin and pick out your school robes."

**…**

An hour later, Snape was dragging Harry out of the robes store by his collar. "Do you have any idea how much time you wasted? We still have to get your wand."

"Then we'll have to hurry, sir."

Soon, Harry burst into Ollivander's wand shop in excitement.

"Ah, welcome, Severus and you…dear boy," said Ollivander, looking at Harry from behind boxes of wands piled on the counter.

"Ollivander," said Snape curtly with an incline of the head.

"How's life with the Dark Lord treating you?" Ollivander said, seriously.

The Dark Lord. There it was again. Professor Snape had already mentioned that name twice; it seemed like everyone knew about that name – everybody but Harry. Currently, he only knew two things about the mysterious man; number one was that Professor Snape knew him personally and number two was that the Dark Lord had a snake.

"The Dark Lord treats all his followers as they deserve," snapped Snape tersely.

"Ah," said Ollivander shrewdly, "so they deserve Cruciatus Curses as reminders of what happened to those that misbehave?"

Harry saw Snape sneak an anxious glance at him. "Only when they _deserve_ it."

"My own morals tell me the Cruciatus is deemed an _Unforgivable_ for a reason," Ollivander insisted.

"If you have a problem with the Dark Lord you can take it up with him."

"I might if I would be able to come out ali –"

"The boy needs a wand," Snape interrupted.

"Of course, of course…" Ollivander turned to Harry. "Excuse me for my rudeness, dear boy. Let's see if I can provide you with a life-long companion."

Harry nodded hesitantly. This was probably the most important moment of his life… and his mind pathetically was elsewhere.

Ollivander's words about the Dark Lord gave Harry the creeps. What had Ollivander meant? What had he been about to say? Was 'I might if I would be able to come out ali –' supposed to be 'I might if I would be able to come out _alive'_?  
Whatever it was, it seemed that Ollivander did not like the Dark Lord. And he had made it sound as if the Dark Lord did horrible things. Harry had a feeling that whatever 'Cruciatus Curses' were, they certainly did not share the same definition as 'fairy cupcakes'.

"Well, now – dear boy, which is your wand arm?"

"Er – well, I'm right-handed," said Harry helplessly, seeing Professor Snape smirk out of the corner of his eye.

"Hold out your right arm, then. That's it."

Ollivander measured Harry from wrist to elbow, then from elbow to shoulder. "Ah, good! I have your measurements."

After letting Ollivander's ruler run over him, Harry stood there feeling rather dazed.

"Right then, dear boy, try this one –" Ollivander whisked a wand from the shelves, "– beech wood and unicorn hair, twelve and a half inches, beautifully supple."

Harry had barely touched it when Ollivander snatched it away. "No, no, absolutely not! A dreadfully ill match! Now, _this_ one has a dragon heartstring for a core – powerful but temperamental. Nice wood, this one; maple wood and nine inches. Try it."

Harry lifted it, but it shot all out of his hand and all the way across the room until it hit the opposite wall.

"Ouch." Ollivander grimaced. "Poor thing sure doesn't like you."

Harry felt mildly insulted. Did the wand-maker have to put it like that? "I'm sorry," he said, feeling as if the fault was being forced on to him.

"It's fine, just another tricky customer. How about… unicorn tail-hair and ebony? Somehow, I don't think it'll work, but…"

Harry lifted it. The whole wand suddenly burned hot, scorching his hand. "_Oww_." He flinched. "Is that _supposed_ to happen?"

"Only if the wand hates you," replied Ollivander cheerfully, determinedly searching shelf after shelf.

Around ten minutes later, the old man came back with a gigantic stack of wands. He selected one randomly from the pile and shoved it into Harry's hand absent-mindedly. "Hmm … Might work, might not. Try it."

The moment the cold wood united with Harry's outstretched fingers, an exhilarating wave of magic washed up his arm, entwining around and around his skin. "Feels good," managed Harry.

Ollivander clapped in delight, throwing glances at Snape as if expecting him to join in. Snape didn't. His hands kept flat by his sides.

"Sorry, dear boy. Just let me check the core and length for you…"

Harry reluctantly let go as the wand-maker prised the wand away from him.

"Hmmm…" murmured Ollivander, running a thin finger over the wood. Suddenly his eyebrows jerked up and his old eyes became startlingly alert. "My goodness. How…unbelievable… phoenix feather and holly. Eleven inches."

"What is it, Mr Ollivander?" Harry enquired curiously.

"I stuck this wand at the very back of the storage… because of its possible dangerous disposition."

"But _why_?" Harry persisted. "Why is it unbelievable?"

"Within your wand lies the brother core to that of the Dark Lord. My boy, what is your name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter."

"Mr Potter, you're destined for great things. After all the Dark Lord did great things too – terrible but great."

"Who…" Harry begun. "Who _is_ the Dark Lord? What do you mean by 'terrible but great' things?"

"That's enough!" Snape's voice rang out from the corner of the store.

Ollivander ignored him, eyes glistening with what looked suspiciously like liquid. "The Dark Lord is also known as Lord Voldemort," he said, voice trembling slightly.

"That's ENOUGH!" shouted Snape viciously. He strode brusquely towards the counter and handed Ollivander seven galleons. "You'll get yourself in trouble if you don't watch it," Snape murmured at the wand-maker.

"I'll deal with it when it happens."

"Fine, suit yourself Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Severus. Good luck, dear Mr Potter."

"Bye, Mr Ollivander. It was nice meeting you," said Harry as he followed Snape towards the door. Just as Snape was reaching for the door knob, the thick and almost dusty silence erupted into blood-curdling screams that came from outside.

"What's going on –?" said Harry.

"Shut up, Potter," hissed Snape urgently. "Let me deal with this."

More screams merged with the first few. There were sounds of panicked running feet and noisy bangs that resonated like explosions. It seemed as if chaos had taken over the order of the peaceful earlier moments.

"Clear the way, wizards and witches of Great Britain, for _Lord Voldemort_!" came a cry from outside. "Stand aside, citizens!"

Harry saw a flash of purple light through the window before Snape's hand suddenly gripped his collar and hauled him away from the glass. A moment later the window was shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, which was then followed by the door flying off its hinges, blasted back into the wall, revealing at least ten people cloaked in fibrous black. Harry also managed to catch a glimpse of the ominous, thick black rainclouds that rolled in the sky when he was dragged back.

Two of those in the black robes stepped inside and moved in the direction of Ollivander menacingly. One on either side of him, they pulled his arms savagely before pinning them back. Harry stifled an alarmed cry as Ollivander's chest hit the counter with a groan. A hand equipped with long black nails pressed him down by his neck. "Death Eaters, you are not welcome," Ollivander cried.

Harry could not figure out for the world, how Ollivander managed to sound so calm when he himself was quivering with fear and Harry wasn't even the one pinioned in a position so vulnerable that he could be choked any second!

There was a sound of billowing robes and Harry looked up to see a female with dark, hooded eyes step inside. He was immediately given the impression of a lithe, pacing predator circling its prey with a disturbingly triumphant expression that Harry simply could not describe in words.

"Behold the new era. All hail the Dark Lord!" the female cried.

An echo arose from the small crowd of black cloaks outside. "All hail the Dark Lord!" they called out as one. "All hail the Dark Lord!" The sound bounced back and forth in Harry's head, echoing emptily.

Somewhere outside, Harry could see a passageway being made for a dark figure at the back. Even from such a distance he could sense the air of authority and power wafting around the figure.

To his dread, the figure was moving slowly towards them.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.  
Please review! I'm desperate here! **

**Changes have been made to improve this writing, and all credit goes to my Beta, Hippothestrowl.**


	4. Death After Torment

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**I want to thank Dormiveglia for her encouraging and lengthy review and AliceInCrazyland15 for her constructive feedback. I'd also like to thank anyone who's stuck with me for this long while reviewing my chapters.****Reminder: Please review. I desperately want to know what you think.**

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* * *

"My Lord."

Harry watched dubiously as Snape bowed before the legendary Dark Lord so low that his abnormally large nose could have brushed the floor.

Snape didn't strike him as the type of person who would willingly bow before anyone. But clearly this Dark Lord was a special case.

The figure that had been walking towards them only a few seconds ago was presently looming right in front of him.

Somehow, without being told, Harry knew that the Dark Lord's black robes and cloak held more value than any of the others'.

Harry silently berated himself; Ollivander was in peril, Snape was bowing, the most powerful man he had ever seen was standing before him, and all he could think about was the price of one stupid cloak.

The Dark Lord's astonishingly pale hands reached abruptly – though gracefully – out from under his cloak and drew the hood swiftly back.

The Dark Lord was only in his late twenties, was Harry's first thought.

The Dark Lord was impossibly handsome to the extent that it wasn't humanly possible, was Harry's second thought.

Harry's third thought, perhaps the wisest of them all, was that he should bow down too, following Professor Snape's example.

But that thought went away even faster than it occurred. It was fairly obvious that Ollivander was under the control of the Dark Lord's followers, who in turn were under the control of the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord was a bully, nothing more.

There was no way in hell that Harry was going to act all submissive around someone like him.

Overall, the Dark Lord had not exactly given him a good impression.

Harry turned his eyes defiantly back onto the scene.

Turning towards the female follower who was now gazing adoringly up at him, the Dark Lord spoke. "Bellatrix, get the old man down on his knees."

In spite of the growing feeling of ill will towards the Dark Lord, Harry felt a shiver of fear creep up his spine.

It wasn't just those words. It was also the amount of _dark power_ put behind each utterance of every letter.

Apparently those words had an effect on Ollivander too, whose prior collectedness had given away to paleness.

The woman follower whom the Dark Lord had called 'Bellatrix' whirled around to glare daggers at the cloaked men who were holding Ollivander down.

"Did you not hear the Dark Lord's request?" she snapped.

The men responded to her immediately; viciously grabbing Ollivander's neck to force him to his knees.  
When the wand-maker showed signs of struggling, one of the men twisted his arm and kicked his legs out brutally, snarling like a wild dog.

Ollivander thudded spontaneously, if unwillingly, to his knees. He was panting heavily, from both the pain at the rough treatment and the exhaustion.

"Tired?" the Dark Lord inquired softly, concernedly almost, if Harry didn't know better.

Ollivander didn't reply.

"I'll take that as a yes," Voldemort gave a twisted smile. "However, I like it better when people answer when I am speaking to them."

He reached down and grabbed a handful of Ollivander's silver strands before painfully jerking his face up by his hair.

"Look at me, Mr Ollivander. You're brave, are you not? I'm sure you're brave enough to look death in the face. So, look at me." The last sentence drew its end in a whisper.

The old man still didn't answer.

"Speak, old man, when I'm talking to you," Voldemort hissed angrily. "The easy way or the hard way? I give you the luxury of choosing."

Harry felt afraid for Ollivander when he didn't utter a word. The Dark Lord's patience was running short, he could tell.

Even Professor Snape seemed uncharacteristically tense.

"Alright. The hard way, then."

Voldemort brandished his wand, wielding it with a meaningful sort of purpose and a flaunted kind of grace.

"Still not saying anything?" The Dark Lord paused for a couple of seconds. Harry held his breath; knowing whatever happened next would not be something he would want to witness.

"_Crucio_."

The shock of the word must have hit Harry nearly as hard as Ollivander. Harry watched, his heart in his mouth, as the old back of Ollivander arced in a degree that bordered on unnatural. Then Ollivander parted his lips, finally, and let out the worst and most drawn-out scream Harry had ever heard in his whole life.

Weeks after, Harry would still have nightmares about this.

As the wand-maker writhed in agonising pain on the floor, arms flailing, Harry watched silently, too afraid and stunned to say a word. He didn't even notice Professor Snape attempt to shield him from the scene.

It lasted for an eternity. Harry watched and heard every twist of the body, every scream of angst as clearly as anything.

Harry saw Ollivander bump his head against the leg of a desk. It started bleeding but it didn't seem as though the man felt even the smallest tinge of pain.

All his nerves, Harry knew, was focused on the larger picture – the inescapable torment of the curse.

This was what Ollivander had meant when he had referred to the 'deatheaters'' punishments as the 'Cruciatus Curse'.

One word, just one simple word hissed in a foreign language by Voldemort, could cause someone so much grief. Harry shuddered to think what Voldemort did to those who displeased him even more than Ollivander.

When Voldemort finally ended the curse, Harry was covered in cold sweat. The Cruciatus Curse had affected him more than he imagined anything ever could.

Ollivander had stopped screaming and thrashing but the violent twitches hadn't ceased.

"Have you had enough?" Voldemort asked Ollivander coldly, all traces of humour gone from his features.

Harry knew if it wasn't for Ollivander's incapacity to answer, he would've. But the Dark Lord seemed to have taken his silence for defiance.

"One little more dosage won't hurt. _Crucio!_"

And the screams started again.

* * *

"I think that is enough, don't you?" Voldemort asked, looking coldly down at the sprawled figure on the ground.

Harry took a deep, trembling breath. It was past enough.

He had closed his eyes when he thought he could bear the sight of Ollivander tortured no longer.  
When Ollivander's screams stopped, Harry had opened them again, in hopes of Voldemort having ended the torture.

It turned out Ollivander had only lost his voice.  
And Voldemort wasn't even half-way through.

He now hated the Dark Lord with a passion. He was a cold and merciless beast who brought disgrace upon mankind.  
Harry hated him.

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix cooed eagerly. "It's time to finish it."

"I agree," Voldemort smiled. "Any last words, Ollivander?"

Harry felt cold, inside and out. The Dark Lord was going to murder Ollivander right in front of him.

He watched Ollivander cough for a while.  
"I think –" Ollivander wheezed.

"My Lord?"

Harry marvelled at Snape's daring to interrupt as the Dark Lord whirled furiously towards Snape.

"I thought… wouldn't it be more useful for us if he lives? My Lord?" Snape suggested tentatively.

"You question my decision, Severus?" Voldemort asked.

"No, My Lord," Snape answered firmly, voice steady. "But I was just wondering…"

"We still have Gregorovitch, Severus. Ollivander limits his wand cores, anyway," the Dark Lord replied.

"Though, My Lord, why Ollivander? What has brought this on?" Snape inquired cautiously, seeming to know the rude nature of the question.

"He is a key enforcer of one of those organisations against me, operating in secret," Voldemort said shortly. "I've only found out a few days ago."

"Thank you, My Lord."

Severus backed down, sending a resigned look at Harry.

"Any last words?"

Voldemort had turned back to Ollivander with an arched eyebrow.

"Yes…" Ollivander rasped out. "I won't give you an apology, then."

Voldemort smirked amusedly, "A poor choice of last words. I've heard many fine ones in my lifetime. And remember, even if you had apologised, Lord Voldemort does not forgive, nor forget."

He drew his wand out and pointed it at Ollivander. "Say goodbye."

"This is not the end, Voldemort," Ollivander stated boldly, eyes proud.

"I'm sure it's not. I intend on hunting down all your fellow rebels," the Dark Lord leered. "_Avada Kedavra_."

A flash of green light, and the last bit of life was snuffed out in Ollivander.

"No!" Harry shrieked.

Abandoning all ideas of self-preservation, Harry bolted forward and hurled himself at the Dark Lord, clawing and hissing.

All Harry could see was a red hot anger, pulsing through his veins, intent on revenging Ollivander's death.

He grasped the Dark Lord's robes and tore at it. His hands found themselves on Voldemort's cold neck, squeezing.

The next second, Harry felt something hard slam into the side of his face. He was sent to the ground, the world above him a painfully bright blur.

The force of the harsh backhand stunned Harry. His left cheek was stinging, as if a whip had torn across it.  
Dazed, Harry looked up at the figure that loomed over him threateningly.

"Who is this child, Severus?" Voldemort asked ruthlessly.

Out of the corner of his watering eye, Harry saw Snape's pale and horrified expression.  
"Just another wizard boy getting packed off to Hogwarts," Professor Snape said.

"Hmm," the Dark Lord tutted. "The things he do cannot be good for his health."

Regretting instantly what he had done on a whim, Harry tried to squirm away unnoticed. No such luck. The Dark Lord coldly stooped down and wrapped his slender fingers around a clump of Harry's messy black hair.

Harry thrashed and wriggled, still struggling to get away.

Ignoring Harry's efforts, Voldemort cruelly yanked Harry to his feet by the hair. He let out a whimper.  
Harry felt not just a few hairs part ways with his aching scalp.

"Let go of me," he yelled.

"Discourteous," the Dark Lord observed.

"Now!"

"Impatient," came the nonchalant remark.

"You killed him like a cold-blooded murderer," Harry said, softly now. "You killed Ollivander."

"I did. And I _am_ a cold-blooded murderer."

"You are a bully," Harry said.

"Potter!" Snape roared. "Watch your tongue!"

"No, no," Voldemort waved him aside. "It's fine, Severus. Let him. He's incredibly amusing."

Harry glared up at Voldemort with hateful eyes. "I'm not scared of you."

That was a lie, of course, but Harry hoped the dark wizard wouldn't know that.

"You should be. I'm a murderer. And a murderer with power, at that."

"Do you always murder old men?" Harry retorted angrily. "And slap children?"

"For that matter – Mr Potter, is it? – You attacked me first."

"You pick on the weak, but act all obedient around your superiors. Why don't you look for someone your own size?"

As soon as Harry caught a glimpse of Voldemort's expression, he knew he had truly stepped over the line with this remark.

Voldemort had finally stopped smiling – which ought to have made Harry feel satisfied – but even he could tell that beyond doubt, the Dark Lord was angry.

"You know, Severus, I think this boy has no idea who I am," Voldemort expressed quietly. "Do you think I should step into your shoes and teach him a little lesson? Of course I'm not a qualified professor but…"

Snape turned to subtly glare daggers at Harry, who had fallen dead silent.

"My Lord, I don't think that'll be necessary –" Snape began.

"Perhaps not," said Voldemort, looking thoughtful. "He'll certainly be disciplined well enough when he arrives at Hogwarts. Headmistress Carrow and Professor Lestrange won't be so merciful. Isn't that right, Bella?"

Bellatrix screeched with laughter. "I'll make sure he gets my personal dosage."

Harry flinched as Voldemort's eyes landed on him again.

"I should correct what I said earlier, about me being a murderer with power. You see, Mr Potter, I don't just have power – I have _supreme_ power. Both in magic and in influence. I control all of Britain. There is no bigger fish in the ocean than I."

Harry gulped.

"Well, Severus, I must be on my way. Goodbye, Mr Potter. It was a pleasure meeting you. I'll see you at the Welcoming Feast," Voldemort said.

Just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Voldemort and his deatheaters were gone, leaving tragedy in their wake, one shocked Harry, and one furious Professor Snape.

"What in the blue blazes were you thinking, Potter?!"

* * *

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	5. On Treacherous Grounds

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

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* * *

There Harry stood, on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, beside Professor Snape. The Professor had not wasted any time in bombarding Harry with a mixture of insults and threats as soon as Voldemort had left.

It had very nearly made him late for the train. But at least he was here now.

Harry had been confused about what Voldemort had meant when he said he would see Harry again at the Welcoming Feast. He also didn't know who Professors Carrow and Lestrange were, and why it had been a private joke between the Dark Lord and Bellatrix.

So Harry had tried asking Snape.  
Predictably, Snape was no help, refusing point-blank to answer any of his 'irksome and irrelevant' questions.

Perhaps he'd find out when he got to Hogwarts.

In the distance, Harry saw the Hogwarts Express coming their way. "Bye, Professor. See you soon!" he said to Snape whose face tightened.

"I'm supposed to escort you _onto_ the train, in case you loose your way," Snape informed him.

Just then, a girl with a headful of bushy brown hair and buck teeth came up to him with her trunk.

"First year?" she asked Harry, smiling warmly.

"Yes."

"Who were you escorted by? My escort was Professor McGonagall. She is the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall is strict, but she's famous for her sense of fairness," the girl babbled.

Harry grinned, seeing Snape's grimace of distaste at the girl.

"You learnt all that about her only after staying a day with her?" he asked.

"Well, no…" the girl said. "Have I ever told you what good teachers books are?"

"Er…no…" Harry said. "My escort's Professor Snape. He teaches potions."

The girl whirled around to see Snape behind her. "I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't see you! Good morning, sir. I'm Hermione Granger. First-year student. Professor McGonagall is over there."

Hermione said all of this in the space of three seconds.

Snape hid a wince, Harry could tell.

The whistle of Hogwarts Express reminded Harry that the train was waiting.

"Miss Granger, Mr Potter, the train is here. If there's nothing else, I shall join Minerva," Snape said quickly.

Harry smiled at Hermione as he climbed up the stairs after her. Once on the train and securely in a compartment, Harry held out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Harry Potter. Glad to make your acquaintance."

* * *

"The food trolley doesn't come any more," said Hermione in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Food trolley?" asked Harry.

"There are all sorts of things on it. Chocolate frogs, Sugar Quills, Cockroach Clusters, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans... I read all about it in Hogwarts: A History."

"Why ever not?" Harry asked, dismayed. "It sounds absolutely smashing!"

"According to Hogwarts: A History, some of the rules were changed when Lord Voldemort won the war three years ago. This one of them."

"So Voldemort changed it," Harry said, half to himself.

"It's _Lord_ Voldemort, Harry. You'll get yourself in trouble if you talk like that. If you're mistaken for one of those _rebels_, you'll be punished – it's not so severe for first-time offenders, but –"

"_Not so severe_?" Harry echoed in disbelief. "Is nearly half an hour of flat-out torture followed by death not severe?"

Hermione blanched. "What do you mean?"

"Mr Ollivander, you know, the wand-maker, he apparently was a key enforcer in one of those illegal organisations. Voldemort found out. He practically closed down the entire Diagon Alley, trying to get to the wand store."

Harry tried to downplay it, for Hermione's sake.

"Goodness…" Hermione breathed. "I mean, I've heard about the killings, the punishments, the prejudice towards Muggleborns, but I didn't know the rumours were true."

Harry shook his head.

"I mean, I didn't realise they let Lord Voldemort on such a free rein. He can't just go around killing people! I can't believe the Ministry of Magic isn't doing something about it," Hermione said.

"Voldemort has control over anywhere you go. He's the biggest fish in the ocean," Harry said bitterly, using the Dark Lord's own words of description.

Hermione leaned back into her seat with a deep sigh. "Are you Muggleborn?"

Harry stared at her blankly. "What's muggleborn?"

Hermione huffed in exasperation, "You know, a magical child born by non-magical parents."

"Then, yeah… I think so. My parents died in a car crash. They never would have died in such a way if they'd been magical, right? I lived with my Aunt and Uncle until Snape picked me up."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"It's _Professor_ Snape."

"Whatever," Harry waved it aside with a good-natured chuckle, "are _you_ Muggleborn?"

"Yes."

"It's just that you know so much about the wizarding world that I could've taken you for a… what do you call those that have magical parentage?"

"Thanks, Harry. They're half-bloods or purebloods."

"I could have taken you for a pureblood."

"Thanks."

"It just seems sort of strange, Hermione," Harry mused, "Why are people prejudiced towards Muggleborns?"

"They think we have dirty blood. The purebloods are meant to have the purest blood, and then it's the half-bloods."

"Has it always been like this?"

"I don't think so," Hermione hesitated. "It went steadily worse for the Muggleborns after Voldemort won the war."

"Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort…" Harry chanted. "I'm really starting to hate him."

"Shhh! Harry!" Hermione hissed. "What if somebody hears you?"

"Too late, Mudbloods. Somebody's already heard."

A voice came from outside their compartment as the compartment door slid open, pushed by a blonde boy with grey eyes.

"What's a Mudblood?" Harry asked the boy curiously while Hermione let out a gasp.

"Look what we have here," the blonde boy sneered, opening the door a little wider to show two solidly-built boys that gave Harry the impression of bodyguards. "A typical little Mudblood and a Mudblood with mud-coloured hair."

Harry had no idea what they called him, but he felt immensely enraged on Hermione's behalf. What was wrong with brown hair?

"Well," he spoke slowly, deliberately, "at least she is not an albino rat."

"Why you, insolent little monster!" the boy snarled ferociously, drawing out his wand.

Harry pulled his out too, and pointed it at the boy before realising he didn't know any spells.

"_Crucio_!" the boy shrieked.

Harry stumbled backwards, horrified, as a red light shot out from the tip of the blonde boy's wand towards him.

To his relief, nothing happened when it touched him.

"Didn't seem to have worked," Harry muttered, inspecting himself.

The blonde boy glowered.

"Give me a spell, Hermione," Harry urged.

"Pardon?"

"Any spell – an aggressive one. Any one. I don't know any," he said.

"Aguamenti."

"Okay. _Auguamenti_!"  
Harry directed it at the blonde boy still standing in the doorway.

The boy was instantly showered. He splattered as he looked in disbelief down at his soaked attire. "How _dare_ you?! I shall tell my _father_ about this."

"I'll be waiting," said Harry smugly.

"Come on, Draco. Let's go," one of his 'bodyguards' said. "We'll ask Professor Lestrange to deal with this."

"I'll make them regret it!"

When the three had left them in peace, Harry turned to Hermione. "I think Draco has quite a flair for dramatics. Perhaps he should become an actor. Anyway, what's Mudblood?"

"An offensive term for a Muggleborn."

"Well, it's not that surprising that spewing out offensive words is his area of expertise," Harry scoffed.

"Hmm…" Hermione murmured anxiously, biting her lip. "Let's hope he's just another Daddy's boy."

"What do you mean?"

"If his father is some high-ranking general, you'd be in trouble."

"I don't care if he's the Minister for Magic or the Queen of England."

"Harry! Draco's father can't be a queen!"

* * *

"Harry! The train's stopped," Hermione said. "Ohmygoodness, I'm _so_ excited. Did you know the ceiling of the Great Hall is supposed to imitate the night sky? It's in Hogwarts: A History."

"Hermione, we're _really_, actually here!"

They came out of their compartment, hurling trunks. The doors of the train were open, and some students were already outside.

"First years, over here!" a voice called.

A woman in fluid, dark green robes stood outside. She looked at them from above her spectacles which was perched firmly on her nose. Her brown hair was weaved tightly, neatly, into a severe-looking bun.

Harry knew immediately she was not someone to be crossed.

"See, she's over there!" Hermione waved wildly. "That's Professor McGonagall!"

"Get down here, Mr Potter, Miss Granger at once! The boats are ready to go," Professor McGonagall articulated.

"I see what you mean about strict," Harry muttered.

Moments later, they were all packed like sardines inside the small wooden boats.

McGonagall performed some sort of weird charm on the boats to make the oars move by themselves.

"Directly in front of us is Hogwarts castle, which you cannot see yet. Towards the left, the Forbidden Forest, which, if I may add, is forbidden from students. If I catch any of you down there I will _personally_ hand you a month of detentions, _and _make you scrub cauldrons for Severus," McGonagall said.

"She's a very responsible teacher," Hermione whispered in Harry's ear.

"Bit over-responsible if you ask me," Harry murmured back.

"Well, good thing I'm not asking you then," she retorted quietly.

"Towards the right is the Quidditch Pitch. Don't let me catch you down there without a note signed by a teacher either."

I won't, Harry thought to himself.

"There in the moat lives the Giant Squid. It is rather friendly, though as a word of forewarning; it does not like children sharing its moat."

Suddenly, Harry had an idea. He shot his arm up. "Professor, who is the Headmistress of Hogwarts?"

There, if Snape wouldn't tell him, Harry would find out for himself.

But things were not as easy as that.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips in a disapproving manner.

"No more talking for the rest of this boat trip," she said firmly.

* * *

Harry kept close to Hermione as they climbed up Hogwarts' front stairs.

The first sight they caught of Hogwarts was beautiful, beyond anything else Harry had ever seen before.

He knew spontaneously he would love the life at Hogwarts.

Those towers and those old bricks, along with the yellow lights and the small moat. It was truly a wonderful sight to behold.

McGonagall had informed them that they would be sorted into four different Houses.

The first was Gryffindor, a place where the brave dwelled.

The second was Ravenclaw, where the clever and creative students went.

The third was Hufflepuff, which held all the kind, caring, loyal and hardworking souls.

The final one was Slytherin, house of the ambitious and cunning snakes.

Harry didn't mind too much where he went as long as the people there were friendly, and as long as Hermione was in the same House as him.

Harry had a creeping suspicion that Hermione would be sorted into Ravenclaw. That girl was obsessed with books to an unhealthy extent.

As they went past the large metal doors, McGonagall led them past standing armours and portraits of people that smiled or winked at them as they walked by.

Harry saw one of them wink at him, so he winked back. He could hear the delighted laughter of that painting following him as he walked on, keeping pace with Hermione.

McGonagall came to a halt outside the doors to the Welcoming Feast.  
"Wait here," she addressed them. "I will go up to the dormitories to get the other First Years. Don't you dare go anywhere. And don't even think about opening those doors before I come back."

She left.

The students started speaking to each other in hushed whispers.

"Harry, which House?" asked Hermione, looking white and clammy.

"Don't really mind that much. You?"

"I think Ravenclaw appeals to me the most," answered Hermione swiftly, without even needing to think.

"Typical," Harry muttered, grinning.

"I heard there's a sorting hat," Hermione whispered, changing the subject.

"A _hat_? You _are_ joking, right? How can a hat tell your persona –?"

"It's in Hogwarts: A History," Hermione mumbled defensively.

A while later they were joined by the other First Years.

McGonagall looked at them sternly, and warned them to be quiet for what seemed to Harry had to be the seventh time before she allowed the doors to the Great Hall to finally open.

Harry stepped into the candlelight. He had never ever imagined such a strange and splendid place.

Thousands of lit candles were floating in mid-air over the four long wooden tables, where the rest of the students were sitting.

Harry looked at them. They all wore plain black school robes, although the symbolic shields on the robes were different.

At a closer glance, Harry realised they were of a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were the House symbols.

The lion for Gryffindor, the eagle for Ravenclaw, the badger for Hufflepuff and the snake for Slytherin.  
Although why Ravenclaw's patron was an eagle and not a raven, Harry didn't know.

These tables, each for one House, were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets that shone with an almost eye-hurting light.

At the every front of the Hall was the staff table, covered by a long white cloth.

Professor McGonagall led them up there so that they stood in a line in front of it.

Harry didn't even spare the staff table a second glance; he was too busy running his eyes over the other things.

Hermione had been right – the ceiling _was_ the night sky, enchanted into a deep blue shade.

It was so _amazing_, so _glamorous_, that Harry could almost forget what he had witnessed earlier that day.  
_And to think!_ That from now and onwards, this place would be his home!

Harry was so distracted that it wasn't until Hermione nudged him sharply in the ribs that he actually looked back at Professor McGonagall.

And it wasn't until McGonagall opened her mouth that Harry realised exactly who the participants of the staff table were…

"My Lord," McGonagall greeted through gritted teeth, sounding as if she was bothered by an unbearably bitter taste. "Here are the students."

My Lord?  
Harry was bewildered. That was how Snape had greeted the Dark Lord. Perhaps the wizarding world had a lot of lords.

But Voldemort had said he would see Harry at the Welcoming Feast…

With a bad sense of anticipation, Harry looked up slowly at the staff table to see Voldemort perched in the tallest seat at the table, in all his icy magnificence.

He quickly turned away, feeling sick.

The Dark Lord, a cold-blooded murderer, was here, sitting with ease in the main gathering room of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as if it belonged to him.

"Students," McGonagall said clearly, her voice stiff, "here are our staff members."

Harry forced himself to look at the staff table again, just not at the spot where _he_ sat.

"To the very right is Professor Flitwick, our Charms Professor. Sitting beside him, Professor Lestrange."

Harry jolted. Professor Lestrange. He stared at her. Wasn't she the female deatheater he had seen at Diagon Alley? Bellatrix, Voldemort had called her.

Her full name apparently was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Great, Harry thought, just great. Hogwarts School was infested by crawling deatheaters.

Focusing on what McGonagall was saying again, Harry discovered she had got through with introducing most of the teachers.

"Sitting beside Professor Sprout is Professor Snape. And then, our beloved Headmistress… Headmistress Carrow."

Harry stared.

So this was the Headmistress. In all honesty, she wasn't all that much an impressive woman. Carrow was short – short and stubby, with hair tied into a thick ponytail that was almost as long as she was tall.  
Her lips, Harry observed, were bright red, contrasting horribly with her naturally splotchy skin. She wore black robes, just like Professor Snape, Professor Lestrange and… the Dark Lord, but somehow, it looked so much less professional on her. As if she was wearing one of those tacky-looking children's costumes for Halloween.

Voldemort had mentioned her too, in Diagon Alley.

Harry wondered if she too, was a deatheater.

"Students!" Professor McGonagall caught his attention again. This time, she led them to a small stool, where she instructed the student at the front of the line to sit down. "This is the Sorting Ceremony, where all of you will be sorted into either Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor or Hufflepuff…"

She cleared her throat, and plucked an old looking hat out of thin air. "The hat will tell you where you belong…"

Harry felt the sharp, triumphant nudge of Hermione's elbow again.

"I won't say 'told you so'," Hermione whispered in a tone so low that only Harry heard.

He smirked at her.

"My Lord," McGonagall had turned back to the Dark Lord again. "I apologise for the inconvenience, but with nothing to do and a whole year's time to spend, our Sorting Hat has created a new song. I understand the rules clearly indicate the song is a waste of time…_but_ the Hat insists. Will you make a little exception for this year, My Lord? This _is_ an old tradition after all."

A mildly irritated look crossed Voldemort's face, but was gone just as quickly. "Of course, Professor McGonagall. As long as it is quick," he said charmingly.

As soon as the last word left the Dark Lord's mouth, the Sorting Hat in McGonagall's arms opened its brim wide and began to sing:

_In times of old when I was new  
And Hogwarts barely started  
The Founders of our noble school  
Thought never to be parted:  
united by a common goal,  
They had the same yearning  
To make the world's best magic school  
And pass along their learning.  
"Together we will build and teach!"  
The Four good friends decided  
And never did they dream that they  
Might someday be divided,  
For were there such friends anywhere  
As Slytherin and Gryffindor?  
Unless it was the second pair  
Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?  
So how could it have gone so wrong?  
How could such friendships fail?  
Why, I was there and so can tell  
The whole sad, sorry tale.  
Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those  
Whose ancestry is purest."  
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose  
Intelligence is surest."  
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those  
With brave deeds to their name,"  
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,  
And treat them just the same."  
These differences caused little strife  
When first they came to light,  
For each of the four founders had  
A House in which they might  
Take only those they wanted, so,  
For instance, Slytherin  
Took only pure-blood wizards  
Of great cunning, just like him,  
And only those of sharpest mind  
Were taught by Ravenclaw  
While the bravest and the boldest  
Went to daring Gryffindor,  
Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,  
And taught them all she knew,  
Thus the Houses and their founders  
Retained friendships firm and true.  
So Hogwarts worked in harmony  
For several happy years,  
But the discord crept among us  
Feeding on our faults and fears.  
The Houses that, like pillars four,  
Had once held up our school,  
Now turned upon each other and,  
Divided, sought to rule.  
And for a while it seemed the school  
Must meet an early end,  
What with duelling and with fighting  
And the clash of friend on friend  
And at last there came a morning  
When old Slytherin departed  
And though the fighting then died out  
He left us quite downhearted.  
And never since the founders four  
Were whittled down to three  
Have the Houses been united  
And they once were meant to be.  
And now the Sorting Hat is here  
And you all know the score:  
I sort you into Houses  
Because that is what I'm for,  
But this year I'll go further,  
Listen closely to my song:  
Though condemned I am to split you  
Still I worry that it's wrong,  
Though I must fulfil my duty  
And must quarter every year  
Still I wonder whether sorting  
May not bring the end I fear.  
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,  
The warning history shows,  
For our Hogwarts is in danger  
From internal, deadly foes  
And we must unite inside her  
Or we'll crumble from within  
I have told you, I have warned you…  
Let the sorting now begin._

The whole entire Hall was dumbfounded and speechless when the Sorting Hat fell silent again. The gobsmacked silence seemed to ring on and on.

Even McGonagall looked a little staggered.  
And so seemed Hermione.

Harry himself knew little of what was going on.

Seeing Harry's blank look, Hermione pressed her lips urgently to Harry's ear and whispered, "The song can be considered treacherous. It's openly against Lord Voldemort. It is dangerous for Professor McGonagall too, if she were to be assumed disloyal by Lord Voldemort – since she was the one who asked for the song."

Harry swallowed, his throat parched. What were the words the Hat had sung? '_For our Hogwarts is in danger, From internal, deadly foes And we must unite inside her. Or we'll crumble from within_,' the Hat had said.

Hogwarts should have been a haven for the students, the children. But now, as the Sorting Hat had said, the school was in danger from _internal_ foes… Lord Voldemort and his followers.

Right now was not the time to worry about what the Hat had said, however. Because Lord Voldemort had stood up from his seat elegantly, his eyes flashing red for a split second. "Minerva, what is the meaning of this?" he inquired softly.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**If any of you search up the original Sorting Hat song for the Fifth Year, you'll find one word different from the song above: 'External.'  
I changed the world to 'interior' meaning inside instead of outside because it fitted the story better. However, thanks to artsycherry who gave me a brilliant bit of advice, I have now changed 'interior' to 'internal'.**

**Thanks for reading. And as always, please review!**


	6. Sorting His Sort

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Reminder: Please review. I understand this chapter may not be the most exciting... but still.**

**Thanks to all those who have followed this story and reviewed all the chapters.**

**Feel free to proceed.**

* * *

Right now was not the time to worry about what the Hat had said, however. Because Lord Voldemort had stood up from his seat elegantly, his eyes flashing red for a split second. "Minerva, what is the meaning of this?" he inquired softly.

* * *

To Harry's surprise, McGonagall recovered extraordinarily quickly, gaining her collectedness in a matter of seconds.

"What do you mean, My Lord?" the Professor asked coolly.

"I think you know very well what I mean, Minerva," the Dark Lord said calmly.

Harry saw the Gryffindor Head of House stiffen.

"I don't," McGonagall countered rigidly, standing her ground like the lioness she was. "Perhaps you'd like to inform me, My Lord?"

"As you wish, Minerva," Voldemort said, smiling in a friendly way. "Let's just put it bluntly… did you ever hear of this song anytime before tonight?"

Harry looked at McGonagall, then at Voldemort, and then back to the House Head.  
There was an intense sort of light shining in both their eyes.

"Forgive me, My Lord, but I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate. I still do not understand what you mean."

The silence in the Great Hall was suffocating. There was not even the sound of a chair shifting. All the students were staring, wide-eyed, at the pair of them.

"I do not see how I can put more clarity into this," the Dark Lord sighed. "Drop the confused act, Minerva, it doesn't flatter you."

Harry suddenly found himself feeling the same worry for the Professor's safety as he felt back in Diagon Alley for Mr Ollivander...

Along the staff table, Professor Snape was rigid, on his face a casual expression that did not suit his strained-looking eyes or his clenched fists.

He looked from McGonagall to his master, his facial muscles growing tauter and tauter as she continued verbally sparring with the Dark Lord, showing no signs of meekness, or backing down.

"I'm confused, Mr Lord," Professor McGonagall ditched her hard tone and switched onto a softer one that was completely out of character for her, "as to why you would direct such an accusation at me. Surely your lack of faith in me isn't impelling you to lay the responsibility of an unfortunate song on me."

Snape seemed as if he was torn between looking impressed at McGonagall's Slytherin dialogue and looking aghast at the flat-out rudeness towards Lord Voldemort.

"You're mistaken, Minerva," said Voldemort, picking up a goblet casually and downing the liquid contents. "I mean no harm. Call me paranoid if you wish. It's just that it's so coincidental. Discernibly, Professors Snape, Lestrange and Headmistress Carrow cannot possibly have been the ones to tell the Sorting Hat what to sing…"

McGonagall peered at him from over her spectacles.

"Therefore it just leaves you, Minerva, and our other beloved Professors. Surely you're not suggesting that our dearest Professors Sprout and Flitwick did it?"

Harry could tell Voldemort's words struck just where they aimed.  
He had deliberately made McGonagall fear for her colleagues. It was either the Gryffindor Head or it was one of the other Professors, that was what the Dark Lord was indirectly saying.

"I think you underestimate the Hat, My Lord," said McGonagall brusquely. "It is abnormally independent – usually preferring to think up its own songs."

"Yes," the Dark Lord mused, "that is another possibility."

"Yes," McGonagall said coldly.

"Of course…"

"Anything else to add, My Lord?"

Harry thought that the Professor was pushing her luck. Voldemort's tolerance could snap at any second.

"What did the Sorting Hat sing again?" the powerful sorcerer asked, smiling. "_Though condemned I am to split you, still I worry that it's wrong_… and then it's… _the warning history shows, for our Hogwarts is in danger_…"

Upon those words, the Sorting Hat immediately opened its brim again. "_Though condemned I am to split you, still I worry that it's wrong. Though I must fulfil my duty And must quarter every year, still I wonder whether sorting may not bring the end I fear. Oh, know the perils, read the signs the warning history shows.  
For our Hogwarts is in danger from interior, deadly foes and we must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within. I have told you, I have warned you… Let the sorting now begin_."

The Sorting Hat fell silent once again.

"Ingenious, the old Hat," Voldemort chuckled. "It is quite the rebel."

Harry thought he heard a bit of forcefulness in the laughter, though he might well have imagined it because Snape seemed to relax again, uncurling his fists.

"It is," McGonagall said, with a genuine bit of fondness.

"With all due respect, Minerva, since you had been the one to suggest a song, I jumped to the most obvious – if irrational – conclusion. I apologise most sincerely for the rude accusation," Voldemort expressed his regret.

Whispers fired up the Great Hall.

Harry even caught a few words some of the students were saying: 'At least he's decent enough to admit he was wrong.'

If Harry didn't loathe Voldemort as much as he did, he too may have believed what the Dark Lord was saying. In fact, now he wasn't too sure if the apology was honest or not.

"My Lord…"

Harry turned towards McGonagall to hear what she was going to say.

"I must apologise too, for my blatant discourtesy. It was most inappropriate," she said.

"That makes the two of us," Voldemort laughed, revealing two rows of strikingly white teeth. "What a bad example we must set for the students."  
He was back to his charming self. "All you teachers and prefects must somehow try and compensate for us. We can't have annoyed parents ringing us up, saying we're teaching the students how to act up at home."

Harry was astounded when a round of laughter greeted the joke.  
It was clever, he had to admit; Voldemort had sneakily, though casually, thrown in a part of muggle culture – 'we can't have annoyed parents _ringing_ us up' – thus successfully gaining the good humour of the students who were more open-minded towards the muggle community while seeming unbiased himself.

Even Hermione Granger was smiling a little.

"Well, we've wasted enough time. You students must be sick with nervousness," the Dark Lord nodded at Harry and the other First Years. "And I'm sure all of us want to start eating."

He returned to his seat once again. "Let the Sorting begin!"

* * *

Harry stood there, waiting, with his hands clamped tensely together.

He had watched student after student go off to the wooden stool where McGonagall stood with the Sorting Hat.

"Hufflepuff!" the Hat had cried when a girl named Susan Bones sat down.

The girl had dropped the Hat on the floor where it sat, eyes rolling irritably as the girl scuttled off to where her House sat.

She was embraced like a long-lost family member with a sounding round of applause.

The same happened to Astoria Greengrass when she was sorted into Slytherin. Except she was welcomed with more than claps and hugs. Someone – Harry didn't see who – had transfigured a miniature snake out of a fork and made it float into the air, hissing 'Go, Astoria!'

According to Hermione, whose whispers immediately were breathed into Harry's ear, that was one piece of advanced magic. Students weren't supposed to learn it until the later years… although it could _well_ have been an older student.

There was also a beautiful-looking girl with platinum blonde hair so pale that it could have been mistaken for white; she nodded at Astoria Greengrass as the First Year girl anxiously sat down next to her.

She had amber eyes, high cheek bones, pink petals of splendour for lips and sharp features. She looked like a fifth year, four years older than Harry, but furthermore had the superior air of someone unapproachable; she looked at the First Years with her head held proudly high and eyes judging calculatingly.

It was odd; it was clear Astoria Greengrass was close to the older Slytherin girl – most likely sisters, but the older girl acted so distant, only saying a: 'Congratulations, Astoria. Mother and Father will be pleased'.

Somehow, the whole exchange felt _too_ professional, to the extent that it might only have been a show, put up for the other Slytherins.

Harry had a feeling that for all the older girl's coolness, she had been the one to do that piece of magic Hermione had considered so 'advanced'.

* * *

Finally it was Harry's turn. His legs suddenly turned to marshmallows. Not that they were edible but because they felt like he would collapse if he even tried to put half of his weight on them.

"Come along, Mr Potter. Over here," McGonagall called.

With a gigantic effort, Harry managed his way over to her. At her gesture, he sat down on the small stool, feeling exceedingly foolish and awkward, as she put the Sorting Hat on his head.

Without knowing why, Harry found an urge to resist and to tear the Hat off. He didn't feel like he wanted an intruder in his head.

The Sorting Hat would be looking through the rich layers of all his juicy secrets to be able to get at his deepest personality and sort him into a House.

He rebuked himself, feeling silly. Every other student had to go through this… even Draco Malfoy, who must have truly, truly cherished his privacy.

Harry couldn't help but wonder whether the Sorting Hat would take a long time. It had only been a matter of seconds, as soon as it had touched Malfoy's head, when it shouted out Slytherin for the whole Hall to hear.

On the other hand, sorting Hermione had proved to be a challenge.

Harry guessed the know-it-all Hermione must had not always been an inner bookworm; there had to be something else to her.

Whatever it was, it had taken the Sorting Hat a straight five minutes to sort her. It had eventually decided to place her in Ravenclaw, where Harry knew she would be happy.

But now that the Sorting Hat was on _his_ head, Harry realised with a sinking heart that he was also a challenge.

"_Ahh… a difficult one_," was the Sorting Hat's first words to Harry. Its voice was strangely loud inside his head.

"_Let's see…hmm… kind and caring usually – a nice boy. Has a soft spot for interesting books. Perhaps a Ravenclaw? Not quite so book smart as a typical Ravenclaw, though. Intelligent, oh yes. But you'd always prefer active learning over theory. Original? Creative? Yes and yes_."

"_Yes. Let me be in Ravenclaw_," Harry muttered to the Hat inside his head. "_Hermione's there!_"

The Hat seemed to have ignored him. "_How about Gryffindor? Brave and courageous! Chivalrous! You, dear boy, suit many of the qualities. Godric Gryffindor would love to have you in his House! Despite your boldness, however, you prefer to fight with words rather than fists… You have a hot temper, but an unusual amount of control over it. Just as long as somebody doesn't push you over the edge…"_

Harry chose to stay silent and let the Sorting Hat do its work. After all, he'd only get ignored if he did say anything.

"_How about Hufflepuff? Loyal and caring, hardworking and steadfast. With a personality so sweet that it could melt vinegar. A patience and tolerance so exercised that nothing would make you loose your head. Dear Mr Potter, despite your occasional Hufflepuff mannerisms, I say you're nothing like them. You've lost your unflappability more than a couple of times. Angry enough to strangle someone…_"

Harry looked up with a jolt.

"_How did you know about that?_" he demanded. "_This is an invasion of personal privacy_."

Somehow when the Hat began talking again, it sounded immensely smug. "_I know all, Mr Potter. I see all your most cherished secrets, secrets that you never planned to tell anyone. Anyway, back on track, aside from that, you have lost your cool and resorted to intentionally harming someone, engaged with the idea of revenge_."

"_He is freaking Voldemort!_" Harry snapped angrily. "_He killed someone, Ollivander! You expect to sit there and keep my stupid cool? First he tortured him, and then he sent him to the land of the dead. I haven't done anything to him aside from a little squeeze around the neck…which if I may add, he warned me against ever doing again, with threats_."

"_But alas, you intended him harm, that makes you a definite no-no for Hufflepuff House_," smirked the Hat.

Harry felt a kind of cold anger. He had no idea why he was arguing with an old piece of fabric that should have rightfully been dead.

Besides, the job of the Hat was to sort him, wasn't it? Then why was it spending all its stupid time provoking him?

"_Fine! I'm a no-no for Hufflepuff, I get it. But when you look here, with an eye around logic, Voldemort killed somebody. Don't you think that gives me the right to react?_" Harry attempted to reason with the bloody hat.

"_No Hufflepuff would ever think like that," _said the Hat.

"_Then what _do_ they think like? That they should give Voldemort sweets because at least he had the mercy not to decapitate the corpse? That's downright pathetic if you ask me."_

The Hat tutted. "_No need to insult a whole House that hasn't done anything to you. They are the purest souls around_."

Harry instantly felt a bit guilty. "_You provoked me_."

"_Don't try to blame me_," the Hat muttered. "_I do not control your mouth… or in this case…mind_."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the staff and students shift around a little, murmuring to each other about how long the Sorting Hat was taking.

Harry blushed a little, seeing that the interest was on him.

In fact, Voldemort turned his head and looked Harry dead in the eye, with not just a bit of curiosity.  
There was a flash of recognition as the Dark Lord smirked slightly.

"_Hey, do you think you can hurry up a little? Everybody's staring_," Harry said to the old Hat.

"_All right then… Hufflepuff is definitely out. So is Ravenclaw_."

"_What?_" Harry protested. "_You said I had Ravenclaw qualities!_"

"_Not as much as Gryffindor or Slytherin…_" the Hat paused for a moment. "_Slytherin; power-hungry, ambitious, cunning, resourceful…and rather persuasive_."

"_That sounds all right_," Harry mused. "_Except Draco Malfoy is in it_."

"_Slytherin will certainly help you on the way to greatness. If you have any doubts you can ask Lord Voldemort. He's had first-hand experience…_"

"_Wait, what?! Voldemort was in Slytherin?_" Harry gasped. "_Now, just wait a moment. Don't sort me into that House_. _Please_."

"_Why not?"_ countered the Hat. "_Gryffindors prefer to fight with fists, Slytherins adapt to more cunning methods, preferring to use verbal words to intimidate or humiliate rather than brutal force… though they can be just as forceful. I know you have a personal inclination towards the latter. While Gryffindors say things outright, Slytherins play political games, twisting words and others' minds. Despite that you lean more towards Gryffindor on that one, I'm sure with time and experience; you'll familiarize with the Slytherin mind games and even throw some of your own."_

"_Wait! Slytherins have a sense of self-preservation. I displayed none when I attacked Voldemort._"

"_Hmmm…however you faced him intent on revenge with a purpose to injure. If that isn't Slytherin, I do not know what is. Besides, Slytherins can be brave too. The world isn't painted in black and white._"

"_That means Gryffindors can be vengeful too_," Harry pointed out.

"_You see what I mean? You're good with words and persuasion. Slytherin House is for you_."

"_Any chance of me persuading you?_" Harry asked.

"_None. I make up decisions for myself. Outwardly you act like a Gryffindor, but given the right chances your Slytherin side will come out, displayed in the smallest of things. For example, you blamed me when I said you insulted Hufflepuff. Slytherins have a tendency for that. We may even be able to call you a snake in lion's hide."_

_"That is pure nonsense,_" Harry spluttered. "_So that is why you provoked me._"

"_Smart boy_," the Hat said sarcastically. "_Time for you to join your House_."

"_Please, no! Wait!_"

"_Too late_," smirked the Hat. "SLYTHERIN!"

"_I promise you I'll tear you apart one day_. _You've put me in the same House as Voldemort_," Harry promised as McGonagall lifted the Hat from his head.

He had an urge to groan as Voldemort's eyes found him again.

Harry trudged to the House table, his House table, ignoring the applause and not meeting Hermione's eyes as she stared concernedly after him from the Ravenclaw table.

Great. Just great.  
He hoped to dear god that he would not turn out like Voldemort some day.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Reminder: Please review. Please, please, please.**


	7. Snarling Slytherins

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Reminder: Please review. I know I am rather demanding for an author with not much writing capacity, but I really would like some longer reviews than usual... thanks.  
On a positive note, I really want to thank everyone for the large number of reviews for the last chapter, and in particular, AliceInCrazyland15, Hana-Liatris, and Glorilian for their marvellous reviews. ****And I also appreciate Dogsby's submission of his opinion. I'd appreciate it even more if Dogsby would tell me how to fix Harry's personality.**

**Aside from that, feel free to proceed.**

* * *

"Look _who's_ here… Potter, is it?" Draco Malfoy sneered as soon as Harry got close enough. "Slytherin, eh? I had you taken for a Hufflepuff."

There were a couple other First Years who tittered. Most ignored them. The older students didn't even bat an eyelid in their direction.

Harry watched, unperturbed, as Malfoy crossed his arms smugly across his chest, waiting for a response.

"Well then, I guess your prediction didn't quite work out," Harry said, coolly.

Malfoy scowled in annoyance at Harry's lack of reaction. "No, really, I didn't take you for a Slytherin."

"Me neither," said Harry nonchalantly as the last of the First Years were sorted. "I thought I be a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor."

Almost instantly, nearly one half of the table fell silent at Harry's remark.  
Draco sneered disdainfully.

"What?" Harry muttered, feeling his face heating up.

"Lucky us," scorned one of the First Years sitting directly opposite Harry. "We have a _lion_ in our lair."  
He said the word as if it had a nasty smell.

"Lion?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Oh, you mean Gryffindor?"

"Scratch that," said the same person. "We have a dumb pussy cat mewing."

"Pardon me?" said Harry, starting to feel offended.

"You're not deaf, are you, Potter?" laughed Malfoy. "Or do you just have chicken feathers up your ears?"

Every First Year sniggered, and many of the older years joined in. It would have sounded merry if it wasn't for the mean undertone and the fun at Harry's expense.

"Neither," said Harry, not knowing how long he would be able to keep his temper under control. "I'm simply ignoring you."

The snickers turned to menacing snarls.

"Here's a warning, little lion, here in our domain, we punish those who do not abide by Slytherin rules with our own methods. Better keep your head down if you want to save your little lion hide."

Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, but he didn't reply. Instead he lowered his eyes to stare down at his plate as the Slytherins traded triumphant glances.

As much as the tactic ashamed Harry, at least it had gotten the Slytherins off his back for the evening.

He'd come up with a more permanent solution when he could think clearly again.

The Sorting Hat might've thought it was doing Harry a great favour, but it had sent Harry to a literal living hell. He knew he'd never be a Slytherin.

The fact that he had managed to irk a whole House in only a few minutes proved it.

He really was going to tear the old Hat to shreds next time he saw it.

* * *

Two hours later, deep into the night, Harry drew the curtains to his four-poster bed in the dormitory and crept under his blankets.

He could still hear the whispers and giggles of the First Year Slytherins as they pranced about the dorm, keen to stay awake.

Draco's voice was loudest of all, boasting of how he would excel all classes and become the youngest seeker in a century… Not that Harry knew what he was talking about; the term 'seeker' was new to him.

Whatever it meant, the other boys protested as noisily as ever. "No way!" they said. "You won't make it."

Harry smiled, mentally seeing Draco's face turn the colour of a beetroot to the tips of his hair.

The Slytherins talked some more, speaking fondly of Professor Snape and Potions, and irritably of Professor McGonagall.

Harry turned over to shut the voices out.

He wondered what Hermione was up to. She'd probably be in bed already, propped against a pillow and reading a book… most likely Hogwarts: A History. Or she could even be in the common room, blabbering excitedly with the other Ravenclaws about common interests.

Harry quickly dismissed the idea. Hermione wasn't the type that made friends easily – she'd more likely be alone than with members of her house on her first night here.  
But…he couldn't help but think that she was going to be getting on better with her fellow Housemates than him with his.

Harry couldn't help but worry if she would quickly forget the half friend she had made on the train.

He couldn't help but admit to himself that he was lonely. No, he wasn't alone. He had never slept in a room with so many people before in his life… but he couldn't help feeling lonely.

Harry buried his head in his blankets and fell asleep, the fading echoes of the whispers still on his ear.

* * *

"Argh!" Harry yelped, limbs flailing as he hit his head on one of the posts. Harry jerked the curtains ferociously to the side to see a snob of a Malfoy smirking conceitedly, arms crossed.

Malfoy had a couple of First Years behind him, all of them grinning like jackals.

"What the _heck_ do you think you're –?" Harry was cut off in mid-sentence by a brown haired boy.

"We know perfectly well what we've done, little lion," the boy smiled coolly. "I think the question should be why we've done it."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows in a superior manner. "Very witty, Zabini."

The brown-haired boy, Blaise Zabini, narrowed his eyes and glared at Draco. "Wittier than you, I suppose."

"Hmm… I suppose so," Malfoy humoured, sarcastically.

Harry glanced bewilderedly between the two boys, his anger momentarily halted. Weren't they in it together? Weren't they on the same side? What was all this arguing?

"Com'on, Malfoy, Blaise…"

Harry turned.

A weedy looking boy was leaning against the wall with a bored look. "Cool it down, you two. You can save your power plays for later. For now… our little lion wants our attention." He nodded towards Harry.

"Gee, thanks," said Harry dryly, "your little make-up tricks are _very_ amusing."

The Slytherins cracked up laughing…

Though no matter how hard Harry struggled to see the humour in the joke, he couldn't.

"I think pink suits you, Potter," said Blaise, the side of his face twitching suspiciously upwards.

"I second that," sneered Malfoy. "You have to actually look in the mirror to see how lovely you look."

"Well, then, Malfoy," Harry hissed angrily, "you better excuse me."

He pushed past Malfoy, who did not resist, and shoved his way out into the bathroom.

* * *

In front of the mirror, Harry held back a groan.

There it was, the completed masterpiece of the Slytherins.

He promised himself that he would get the jerks back, come hell or high water.

His hair, which had been the darkest of blacks the last night, had been turned into a repulsive shade of hot pink.

Harry desperately wanted to slam his fist into the mirror and break it into one thousand pieces… if only to get rid of his reflection.

"Well, dear, if you don't mind me commenting so early in the morning, you look mighty dashing," crooned a voice.

Harry whirled around and saw absolutely no one behind him.

"Over here, dear. I'm the mirror."

Harry twisted back. Somehow, the mirror managed to blink fawningly at him behind thick eyelashes.

"You know…" said Harry slowly. "I have pink hair."

"I know, darling! I can see _perfectly_ well," cooed the mirror happily, puckering its lips. "A fine, handsome young lad."

"Thanks," muttered Harry, voiced laced with sarcasm. "Think the other students will like my new hairdo?"

"Absolutely, dear!" gushed the mirror. "A bit of pink flatters your rosy cheeks."

"A _bit_?"

The mirror sniffed haughtily, "Don't expect me to be flawlessly accurate on _such_ an early morning. Did I mention a bit of purple highlights in your hair would be even better?"

Harry was about to chuck a towel over the mirror and storm off when an idea struck him.

"Hey, mirror –"

"Lady Mirror," the mirror corrected delicately.

"All right… _Lady Mirror_, do you know of a way I could get rid of this _splendid_ pink hair and save it for later?"

"Well… if you _must _get rid of it before you go to class –" simpered the mirror, "– which will be a _ginormous_ shame, by the way, you can always ask your House Head if you can borrow a hat… _if_ Professor Snape has one…that is."

"Argh!" Harry grunted in frustration. "You're no help at all."

Somehow, he didn't think Professor Snape would be too amused if he showed up in his office and asked for a hat on any normal day.  
And even less if he showed up with pink hair on the first day of school and asked.

"Sweet nibblets! Heavens to Betsy, are you rude! Apologise this instance, you naughty boy!" shrieked the mirror.

"Don't think I will," muttered Harry, snatching one of the dirty towels from the washing bucket and throwing it directly on top of the mirror, covering it fully from head to bottom.

"Come back this instance and uncover me, or I'll never show you your reflection again!" screamed the mirror, voice somewhat muffled.

"I think I will thank you for that," he said.

When Harry made his retreat from the bathroom, the dormitory was empty of people. One hurried glance at the clock told Harry that it was another just another seven minutes before classes started. No wonder Draco had moved aside so gleefully when Harry had entered the bathroom. He must have known how late it was.

Harry seized his Hogwarts uniform and dressed in the time of what had to be a world record. He then reached for the door knob and bolted down the moving staircases towards the Great Hall.

He already knew he'd be way too late for breakfast, but he had to get the list of classes he had for today, and maybe – if he was extremely lucky – he'd be able to bump into Hermione before classes begun.

She would know how to magic away pink hair.

It was with that thought that Harry sprinted through the empty Great Hall.

"Mr Potter?" echoed a stern and disapproving voice. "What is it with your hair?"

Harry came abruptly to a halt.  
"Professor McGonagall, good morning," he panted. "Sorry… late. Do you know where the list for my classes is?"

He purposely avoided the question about his hair.

To his surprise, not only did Professor McGonagall not mention it any further but she also paled considerably. "Goodness, Mr Potter. Then you must hurry."  
Her voice was tight.

"Yes, Professor," agreed Harry. "It's the first day."

McGonagall whirled around, spectacles perched firmly on her nose, and snapped her fingers together.

A list promptly zoomed through the air with a whistle and landed in her hand.

McGonagall glanced at it sharply, and if it was even possible, her face paled even whiter a shade. "First day of school…classes…detention…Carrow…" muttered the Gryffindor Head. She shook her head briefly as if to clear it.

"Here," she said, wrapping Harry's hand tightly around the list. "Hurry, Mr Potter! You have a class on the Dark Arts first thing in the morning!"

There was a sort of urgency to her voice that made Harry wonder why she was so keen for him to learn the Dark Arts.

"Thanks, Professor," he shouted as he took off towards the Dark Arts classroom. He didn't look back.

Perhaps it was to his fortune that there was a map of the directions to the different classrooms on the list for the First Years.  
Otherwise, there was no doubt in Harry's mind, that he would have gotten utterly, hopelessly lost.

As it was, he dashed through the corridors so fast that he managed to catch Hermione just outside the Dark Arts classroom.

Harry was aware that he drew glances as he tossed his head back and yelled, "Hermione!"

The shout had drawn even more glances.

It was all thanks to his pink hair, thought Harry bitterly.

Hermione turned around, eyes searching.

"Hermione, over here!"

He gripped her arm as they ducked into an empty corridor.

"Honestly, Harry, _no shouting in corridors_ –!" squealed Hermione as she was dragged behind Harry into the seclusion. She ducked, barely managing to avoid a painful collision with a hanging painting. "Harry, what on earth is…" she suddenly stopped and took one long look at Harry. "_What on earth_ happened to your hair?!"

Harry sighed deeply and closed his eyes. "Blame the Slytherins. Their idea of a welcoming gift."

"Oh, Harry!"

He flushed as Hermione flung herself at him and enveloped him in a bear huge. He was immediately treated to a mouthful of bushy brown hair.

"Hermione…" he gasped, attempting to untangle himself from her arms. He felt extremely awkward.  
"Com'on, 'Mione. Class is about to start."

"Eeep! You're right. We're going to be late if you don't hurry!" Hermione all but yelped. She looked at her wristwatch. "Three minutes till class starts!"

Harry spluttered in protest as he was towed bodily by Hermione towards the classroom.

"No, wait!" he insisted. "Stop!"

Finally, eventually, Hermione stopped in her tracks. "What?" she demanded, seemingly angry at Harry for making them slow down.

"My hair," gestured Harry helplessly. "Think you could fix it?"

Hermione's expression, which had been as hard as McGonagall's a few moments before, softened. "Harry, I'm sorry, I forgot 'bout your hair. Here, I know a spell. It'll only take a few seconds… And Harry?"

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Remind me to teach you a few spells you could use to take revenge."

* * *

"Heavens, I can't believe we made it!" Hermione puffed as she plopped herself down on a seat at the front of the classroom.

"Sure," said Harry, taking the spare seat beside her. "You said it would only take _a while_."

"Well," said Hermione in a bossy voice, "I made a slight _miscalculation_. Would you like me to reverse the spell?"

"Not enough time," he muttered hurriedly. "The Professor will be here soon."

"I daresay there's enough time," came a voice that had familiarised itself in Harry's mind. "Snakes, I say we re-do the spell. That lovely pink, princess-y hair, all gone!"

"Go stuff yourself, Malfoy," snarled Harry viciously.

"No need to be rude, little lion," said Blaise Zabini, grinning good-naturedly. "Why so aggressive?"

"Leave him alone," insisted Hermione, starting to grow red.

"This is my battle," Harry immediately told her. "I can deal with this."

"Aww, that is so cute. Little lion wants to fight his own battles."

Harry didn't see who said that.

"Harry!" Hermione snapped. "What does it matter? These no-good _idiots_ are bullies. The entire House is ganging up on you – and all you say is that you want to fight your own battles?"

A pounding headache was invading his head. As good intentioned as Hermione was, she was causing a scene.  
And the last thing Harry wanted was humiliation in front of even more people. Already, he could see Ravenclaws sitting near the back of the class staring at them.  
Not to mention the Slytherins would consider him even more of a weakling than they already did.

"Hey, _Mudblood!_ Watch your filthy mouth. You saw the Dark Lord at the Feast last night; you really think he'll tolerate your sass?"

"Oh, just shut up!" Harry shouted, angrier at the threat directed at Hermione than the foul word.

"Ouch. That hurts," wailed Draco with a superior expression. "The things you say break my heart." Then, he changed his tone. "I think you should learn some manners."

"Come on, Harry! I'm taking you to the Headmistress. She'll deal with this. My word, an entire House against one person. Speaking about injustice," exclaimed Hermione.

The grins that suddenly snapped onto the Slytherins' faces told Harry that it would not be a good idea. Nothing that made _them_ happy was good.

"Go ahead, Mudblood," spat Draco. "See if we care. Let me warn you though, you may just find this time that you've bitten off more than you can chew."

Harry looked at the empty seat beside him. Hermione had stood up and was advancing with a sort of steel determination towards the door.

By now, everyone, every single person, was gaping at the unfolding drama.

"Wha – wait!" Harry called.

He leaped forward and hauled Hermione forcefully back into her seat.  
"Don't. At least not yet," he said.

"Listen to your friend, Hermione Granger. That would be the wise thing to do."

It was a feminine voice. A voice that Harry didn't recognise from the jeering. He turned slightly and saw a girl with startlingly bright amber eyes and brown waves. She didn't sound particularly spiteful, and even sent him a shy smile.

He had the feeling he had seen her somewhere before.

"Astoria, you're ruining the fun," whined Draco.

It was odd, Harry thought, the Slytherins talked to one another as if they'd known each other for a long time, not simply a few hours.

"Draco, don't," persisted Astoria. "This is your favourite class, remember? You should already know a lot; Lucius is a great teacher. Do some revision. Let them do theirs."  
She nodded at Harry and Hermione.

"Fine," Draco gave in, sounding extremely sulky.

Harry marvelled at how a mere girl could make the Slytherin shut up. That was when he remembered. This was the girl he had seen at the Welcoming Feast with the other Fifth Year.

"Astoria Greengrass, right?" he asked.

"Yes. Pleasure."

Harry smiled discreetly as Malfoy gave a final huff and turned back to his work. The other Slytherins followed his example and left Harry and Hermione alone.

"I better revise too. Professor Carrow isn't particularly understanding if you fail a test," Astoria said.

Once again, the Slytherin girl spoke, weirdly, as if she knew the Professor personally. But she couldn't have. Lessons had never taken place before, let alone tests.  
But she might be related to, or at least, a friend of the pretty fifth-year. That was probably how she knew. The fifth-year must have told her.

Carrow…  
Carrow was the Headmistress, not a Professor.  
Harry wondered about what was going on.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when Hermione nudged him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm marvellous," Harry answered, wryly.

He then glanced around the room, noticing the strange pattern of the seating.  
All the Ravenclaws were packed like sardines at the very back half of the room while the Slytherins hoarded the front. It was all very strange.

Hermione had chosen to come to the front instead of sitting with her House-mates. Perhaps she had done it for him, but she could always have taken him with her to the Raevnclaws. Yes, Harry decided, she definitely should have done that.

"Why on earth did we not go and sit at the back?" Harry whispered, keen not to draw attention to himself again.

"Because this is the front," replied Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Gee, thanks a million for stating the obvious, 'Mione."

"No, I meant that sitting at the front means it's easier to pay attention to the lesson. No details missed out."

"Great, just great."

Just then, the door slammed open with a massive BANG!

Harry was mildly surprised the windows didn't shatter into a thousand pieces.

In stepped the Headmistress wrapped from head to toe in black. Despite the gloomy feel she instantly brought to the classroom, Harry thought she'd have to work on it for at least a few years if she wanted to become as intimidating as Snape.

In quick strides, she walked over to the front of the class.  
Not bothering to even touch the chalk, she brandished her wand and waved it in front of the black board.

'DARK ARTS' it read.

The Headmistress cleared her throat: '_hem, hem._'

The Slytherins shot to attention, eyes glistening wickedly. Harry was starting to have a bad feeling about this lesson.  
He now had no doubt Headmistress Carrow was somehow linked with Lord Voldemort. All the evidence pointed towards that one answer.

"Good morning, class." Carrow didn't even wait for the class to greet her back. "We have to get down to business fairly quickly, today. First of all, I'd like to pronounce to you all that my position as Headmistress is perfectly stable and I am not about to be reduced down to the rank of a common Professor."

Harry would have laughed forcefully at the joke if it wasn't for the serious look on Carrow's face. Now, he didn't know whether he should laugh.

"_But_, I disdain the dull job of filling in unnecessary paperwork, negotiating with the ministry on educational values, spreading good reputation about Hogwarts School using the media, and all the rest. I wanted to teach. Of course, Professor Lestrange, a woman not _quite_ suited to be a qualified teacher, is your muggle studies instructor. I… and ah…another _very_ important wizard made both subjects: Dark Arts and muggle studies compulsory for all students."

Harry thought he might have an idea of who that _very_ important wizard was.

"First rule of a Professor: never speak ill of a colleague." Harry suddenly felt the soft breath of Hermione Granger on his neck. She sounded irritated.

Carrow continued, "Anyway, as Headmistress and Professor, I expect thorough respect from you. As students, children, you listen and obey. Our first lesson today on the Dark Arts begins now!"

* * *

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**I realise both Harry and Hermione are immensely out of character - but I was working at night on this - so I hope you'll excuse me.**

**Reminder: Review! The next chapter will probably be up in a few days.**


	8. Dark Arts

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Reminder: Review! I want to thank Hana-Liatris for her _amazingly_ long review, and all those who gave me constructive criticism.**

* * *

"All right, Unforgivable Curses. Who can tell me about them?" Carrow asked, demandingly.

Draco quickly shot his hand up. Hermione looked like she was tempted to do the same but was too repulsed to do so.

"Unforgivable Curses," Draco recited. "Three of the most powerful curses, require great willpower and great skill from the castor to bring about the wanted results. There's three – the Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse…" – here Draco grinned – "and the Killing Curse."

"Wonderful. Five points to Slytherin," trilled Carrow in an unbelievably high-pitched voice. "Theodore Nott, will you tell me the incantations?"

"Imperio, Crucio, and Avada Kedavra."

The second and last incantation hit Harry like icy water.

Those were the exact curses Voldemort had used to torture and kill Ollivander. Harry could hardly believe it – they were expected to learn curses that could hardly be viewed as moral.

The castle _was_ infested with sick-minded deatheaters.

They'd be dreaming if they thought _anyone_, even the Dark Lord, would be able to make _him_ learn those.

"Perhaps one of you _Ravenclaws_ would like to tell me what the Unforgivable Curses do?" Carrow smiled chillingly.

Harry turned in his chair and looked towards the back of the room. The majority of the Ravenclaws looked aghast; one even looked like he was about to vomit.  
A few looked completely blank. Harry couldn't decide whether they were fortunate or unfortunate.

It was obvious none of them was going to answer anytime soon.

It looked like Hermione, today, would be the saviour.

"The first, the Imperius Curse, strips the victim off his or her will and forces the victim to obey every command of the castor. The second is the Cruciatus Curse, even worse than the one before. It strikes the victim with excruciating, unbearable, pain. It is said nobody who has not been under it would know what it feels like. The Cruciatus is often used during torture sessions…"

Harry could tell Hermione was trying to maintain her professional air. He had to say he was impressed by what she managed to achieve.  
But her calmly maintained voice was slowly beginning to let in more and more disgust.

"And the last and worst is simply known as the Killing Curse. It causes instant death, and cannot be blocked by any magic. There is no known survivor who has actually been struck by it. When cast, a jet of green light shoots out of the wand."

Carrow smiled disturbingly, showing two rows of teeth. "Five points to Ravenclaw. Nicely described, Miss Granger. Can anyone tell me why they are named the Unforgivable Curses?"

This time, Harry could see that Hermione was looking visibly relieved as she volunteered her hand again.

"Because they are unforgivable. The barbarically awful nature of these curses caused them to be considered 'Unforgivable' in 1717 by the Ministry of Magic; meaning the use of any one of these curses is a one-way ticket to the wizard prison Azkaban," recounted Hermione.

Harry saw Alecto Carrow's face darken distinctly as her lip curled in Hermione's direction.

"The Unforgivable Curses _were_ unforgivable," she corrected. "The laws restricting the Unforgivable Curses were lifted in 1988 by the Ministry of Magic. Now, in the time of a new era, the free use of Unforgivables is permitted."

Hermione paled. Malfoy smirked.

"In fact, it is a tradition in the past three years to treat severe transgressions with the Cruciatus Curse at Hogwarts. This area of discipline has proved itself to be beautifully effective. And that, the Unforgivables, is what I'll be teaching you today."

Harry himself felt ill.  
Voldemort and his filthy deatheaters were turning the school into their playground. Torture sessions? It was unbelievable.

Beside him, Hermione stood up suddenly with a mixture of poise and conviction in her posture. Harry stared after her, not registering what she was doing.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Carrow said, smiling. "Though standing up really isn't necessary. Sit down."

Harry was horrified to see Hermione didn't. She looked the picture of calmness. "I prefer standing, Professor."

Carrow's face distorted into one of cold anger. "What is that supposed to mean, Miss Granger? Students obey the teacher."

Horror-struck, Harry looked wildly around the room. His eyes met with Astoria Greengrass', whose eyes, for some reason, gleamed apprehensively at him.

Draco Malfoy, who sat next to the Greengrass girl, sat back into his seat with a smile and entwined his fingers on the desk as if preparing for an enjoyable show.

"Professor, I am sorry. I only wanted to ask a question," said Hermione politely.

With a predatory flicker in Carrow's eyes, she looked as if she had finally come to a decision. "All right then, Miss Granger. Speak up for the class to hear."

Carrow was humouring Hermione.

Harry blinked and clenched his teeth tightly. He had a feeling this was going to end badly.

"I was merely wondering… that after so many centuries of prohibiting the Unforgivables, it cannot possibly be logical to change it," stated Hermione.

A few Slytherins let out growls. Harry wished Hermione would watch her words.

It wasn't that he didn't agree fully with her – because he did – but trapped in a castle with three deatheaters and one Dark Lord who could come and go anytime he felt like; it was neither the time nor place for an outward speech of rebellion.

One look at Hermione's resolute face told Harry that shutting her up anytime soon was unlikely.

The possibilities of Hermione getting out without a detention was starting to look dimmer and dimmer, just as Carrow's expression grew frostier and frostier.

Harry just hoped to dear god that a detention would be all Hermione was getting.

"And after only three years of it being considered acceptable, surely it would be scientific to strictly ensue that under no conditions should it appear inside a school filled with thousands of children no older than seventeen," continued Hermione, cogently.

"Aside from that not being a question, Miss Granger, I'd just like to ask _you_ a question: are you willing to go against the laws of the Ministry of Magic?" queried Carrow.  
"I can assure you it'll guarantee you will be expelled from the school under heavy charges. The society we are in today is different to the former. The structure of government is different, the Minister for Magic has been changed… nothing is the same anymore."

"I was merely putting forward my opinion, Professor. I am sorry if it was inappropriate." She sounded perfectly sensible, to Harry.

But he was inwardly panicking. He wanted to join Hermione so that she'd have at least some form of support but he was afraid it would only make matters worse.

"Very well, Miss Granger, then I'll ask you another question. In a society where everyone is allowed to use the Unforgivable Curses, would you rather come out of Hogwarts knowing how to use and evade them or knowing how to endure them?"

"I'd work for the position of Minister for Magic or build a resisting campaign. I'd try to change the laws."

Harry had to suppress the urge to cry out. What Hermione had said was particularly daring. If a simple Hogwarts Sorting Hat song could put McGonagall down as treacherous, then what was Hermione?

It seemed like Professor Carrow had reached the same conclusion as he.  
"Miss Granger, that can be considered a highly… dangerous thing to say. The Ministry takes precautions to ensure that they have a good reputation."

"I'm still a child, Professor, according to Ministry rules, a child cannot be legally considered a traitor to the state," said Hermione, still with the same respectful tone.

Her tone really didn't match the things she said, thought Harry. He was impressed, though, by how much Hermione knew about Wizarding laws.

"The Ministry has ordered Hogwarts staff to take into hand the younger children with rebelling tendencies and condition them through whatever means. Surely a delicate girl such as yourself wouldn't want that?" Carrow leered.

It looked like Carrow had finally lost her patience. It also seemed that she didn't have the wit to keep with Hermione's verbal probes while still keeping polite.

Despite that, Harry was now worrying about whether Hermione would get the Cruciatus for her lip.  
It wasn't likely, he knew.  
Because it couldn't possibly be considered one of those 'severe transgressions'. But he knew trusting a deatheater's word was like signing one's own death warrant. Regardless of how little experience he had with Voldemort's followers, it was obvious that they were as ruthless as their master.  
If Bellatrix Lestrange's behaviour at Diagon Alley was anything to go by.

"Pardon?" asked Hermione, sounding shocked.

Harry could see that for the first time since she had stood up, Hermione was uncertain of herself.

It was oddly uncharacteristic of Hermione to behave like this. She usually reacted upon logic, not emotions – and if Harry hadn't seen it himself, he would not have known Hermione was capable of such a thing.

Perhaps the Sorting Hat should've sorted her into Gryffindor.

"Pardon_, Professor_," corrected Alecto Carrow, mimicking Hermione's voice.

By now, even Draco had stopped smiling. The Ravenclaws all wore looks of alarm.

That was it.

Harry didn't know what compelled him to join Hermione – but in a flurry of panic and fury, Harry slammed back his chair, making a harsh scraping sound; and stood up so that he and Hermione stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

"There's no need to call Hermione Professor, Headmistress," said Harry, his voice cold.

Harry's words caught Carrow off guard. Her jaws fell down, leaving an astounded look on her face.

"She's right though," he continued in a loud voice, "about the Unforgivable Curses."

By now, all his fears had been swept, almost magically, away and his full cold rage was focused on Carrow.

Hermione glared at Harry disapprovingly, but he thought he saw a relieved sparkle in her eyes.

It was almost as if Harry's words were a cue for the Ravenclaws. From behind Harry, came a chorus of murmured agreements.

At that point, Carrow's eyes narrowed, and she recovered from her surprise. Gathering all her composure, she tossed back her long ponytail and said grimly, "Thirty points from Slytherin, Mr Potter."

Angry voices broke out. The Slytherins looked like they would very happily strangle Harry right then and there.

"Way to go, Potter!" Draco yelled out, scowling.

"Silence!" shouted Carrow, snapping her wand out.

The room instantly fell silent.

Harry eyed that piece of wood in her hands cautiously. If there was anything that could do any damage, it had to be her wand.

"Okay, class, we have already wasted more than enough time," said Carrow softly in a gentle voice that Harry did not trust. "If you, Miss Granger, and Mr Potter would take your seats…"

Harry found himself dragged down by Hermione who shook her head meaningfully at him.

"Thank you," said Carrow, with a glance in their direction.

She then lifted her wand and pointed it…

At Harry.

He immediately felt the pulses of his heartbeats racing.

"Since we're learning about the Unforgivables, why don't you give us a demonstration, Mr Potter?" she said, triumphantly. "Come on up to the front of the class and face your classmates." She flicked her wand impatiently, gesturing at the spot beside her.

Harry swallowed nervously. No spell came shooting out of that wand towards him. He had been paranoid, as usual.  
But he couldn't help but think Carrow had scared him on purpose.

"And you, Miss Granger, since you're both so involved with our currant subjects."

Hermione did as she was told, joining Harry at the front.

Carrow cleared her throat as if to prepare herself for a big announcement.

"First Years, I'd like you to appreciate our two volunteers, for they'll be helping me a great deal," Carrow told the class.

Harry blinked.

Carrow then slowly turned to him and Hermione.

"Mr Potter," she pronounced each word unmistakeably, "I'd like you to draw out your wand and cast the Cruciatus Curse on Miss Granger."

Harry froze like a deer caught in the headlights. "Sorry, Professor?" he asked, thinking he had misheard.

"Yes, Mr Potter. The Cruciatus. You know the incantation," proclaimed Carrow impatiently. "Go on."

Harry quickly opened his mouth to refuse when he saw Hermione shaking her head desperately.

"Do as she says," Hermione mouthed at Harry. "Trust me. I've a plan."

He hesitated.

Carrow looked warningly at him. "Do it, Mr Potter."

Harry instinctively opened his mouth to decline, again.

But one encouraging stare from Hermione made him reach reluctantly into his sleeve for his wand. She had said she had a plan.

Feeling the cold and smooth wood that felt like another part of Harry calmed him down a little. But it did little good to throw off the panic he could feel gripping his throat with its icy fingers.

The whole classroom was silent. One would be able to hear a pin drop.

The Ravenclaws sat with dangling jaws, looking as if they couldn't believe the barbarity of it all. In all honesty, Harry couldn't either.

His hand clenched so tightly on his wand that he was surprised there was not yet a dent in the wood.

The Slytherins looked on with emotionless masks… although Harry could see Malfoy's goons, Crabbe and Goyle, nudging one another and grinning like a pair of fools.

"Mr Potter," came the cruel voice of Carrow again, "please don't keep the whole class waiting."

…

"Professor Carrow?"

Carrow whirled around to glower at the person who had dared to interrupt.

Harry was coherent enough to register it was a Ravenclaw boy.

"You can't make him do this, Professor," the boy said timidly, voice trembling and gaze down.

"You speak of this as if I intend to torture them both." Carrow laughed harshly. "I'm only doing my job – teaching a lesson. Besides, I doubt Mr Potter will have the willpower needed to complete the curse anyway."

The boy shrank back as Carrow advanced towards him.

"Would you like to join them?"

There was an unmistakeable threat hanging in the air.

"No, Professor."

"No? Very well, then."

Carrow turned back towards them, her stubby back bent like a vulture's. "So? What are you waiting for, Potter?"

His wand nearly slipped from his sweating hand. He glanced at Hermione quickly, waiting for further instructions.

She nodded firmly at him.

So Harry raised his wand slowly and wetted his lips, mentally preparing himself for the very words Voldemort himself had uttered

Harry avoided Hermione's eyes this time as he faced her. He felt like a traitor.

However, he could feel Hermione's reassuring gaze. It reassured him – at least a little.

Harry squeezed his eyes tightly together until stinging tears came out, and then he said the unforgivable words.

"Crucio."

He didn't feel anything – no tinge of magic, no floating sensation… nothing. He didn't hear Hermione scream either.

Cautiously, Harry opened his eyes again. Hermione was looking at him soothingly. Nothing had happened. There was no effect whatsoever.

The curse didn't work.

Harry could feel a faint smile working its way across his lips. "It didn't work, Professor."

"Try again," said Carrow. "You actually have to _mean_ it for the Cruciatus to work. You have to _want_ to cause pain. With that in mind, you can try again."

"No."

"_Pardon?_" she asked incredulously.

"No," repeated Harry decisively. "I don't want to."

"It's not a matter of what _you_ want, Mr Potter. It's for the sake of the whole class. Do be considerate, won't you?"

Ignoring Hermione's sharp looks, Harry stood his ground firmly. He wasn't afraid of Carrow. "I'm sorry, Professor. I've already tried, and it didn't work."

"Well, then. You'll have to try again."

"You can select another student, Professor," pointed out Harry.

"I do not have to explain my decisions to you!" she snapped viciously.

Harry jolted.

"You. Will. Obey. Your. Professor."

Harry could almost hear Carrow's teeth grinding as she forced the words out.

"No. I'm sorry, Professor, but –"

"Very well, Mr Potter. You may go back to your desk." Alecto Carrow took a deep breath.

Harry looked up in amazement at her, unable to believe that she had just given in. Somehow, she didn't seem like she was someone who would surrender so easily.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Mr Potter."

He didn't. Content, Harry scrambled back into his much beloved seat.

"Since Mr Potter has decided to de-volunteer himself, I will take his place," Carrow told the class as a whole. "I daresay this will be more exciting than Mr Potter's last failed attempt."

Any happy thoughts was instantly banished to the back of his head as Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. This was why Carrow had let him return to his seat.

Hermione was now facing a blood-thirsty deatheater who had not only performed the Cruciatus on dozens of people before but also enjoyed it.

His throat felt parched; he watched with a sick feeling as Carrow raised her wand without a trace of hesitation.

Like a cat that's got the cream, Carrow smiled satisfyingly. "This may hurt just a little, Miss Granger," she warned softly.

Harry flinched. Hermione was looking past Carrow and at him with wide, fearful eyes.

He knew he had to stop Carrow somehow.

"Cruci –"

"Professor!" Harry cried. "Ma – may I please try again?" He choked down the bile that rose up in his throat. "I want to try again, Professor."

Carrow had stopped. She slowly lowered her wand hand. "Are you sure, Mr Potter?"

"Quite," confirmed Harry pleadingly.

"Being a generous teacher, I will allow you the chance this time despite that rude departure of yours."

"Thank you!" Harry said as he jumped from his seat and raced towards Hermione.

"You need to want to cause pain, Mr Potter," reminded Carrow.

Harry carefully stored that in his mind. He knew he had to get the Cruciatus Curse working. It would hurt Hermione – but far less than if Carrow did it. He just _had_ to make it work.

Harry bit his lip and glanced at Hermione who was looking shaken. "Sorry," he mouthed.

With his wand clasped tightly in his hand and his teeth gritted together, Harry once again faced Hermione with a determination of steel. He was sweating, but he didn't care.

This was his second attempt of the Cruciatus, and it had to be his last one for the day.

He had to hurt her.

He just had to.

Harry raised his wand and brought it down with an unsettling _swish_.  
_"Crucio!"_ he shouted.

A red light flew out of the tip and zoomed towards Hermione. It struck her right in the middle of her chest.

Everything happened in slow motion.

Hermione was instantly brought with a grunt to her knees. Her head was thrown back by the force of the curse.

But something was wrong. Harry told it immediately.

Her face never contorted in pain. She didn't scream. All the curse did was bring her to her knees.

"Hmm…" murmured Carrow. "Not bad for a second try, but…"

Harry froze, waiting. His wand accidently slipped through his fingers and dropped to the floor.

"One more try can't hurt," smiled Carrow. "No pun intended."

There was nothing that Harry felt less like doing at that moment than laughing at Carrow's sick joke.

"Okay," croaked Harry, body stiff.

He looked at Hermione who had defiantly clambered back on her feet.

I want to hurt her, Harry thought unwaveringly.

I need to hurt her.

No, I _want_ to hurt her.

I _want_ to hurt her.

Hurting her will solve everything.

I _want_ to hurt her.

He repeated it mentally so many times that he almost believed it himself.

Hermione was a clever girl had had stuck by him ever since they'd met on the train. She was a loyal person. A good person.

But for now, just temporarily, she was his worst enemy.  
He hated her. More than anything else in the world.  
Harry Potter would get his revenge if he could just get at his wand. As soon as he touched his wand, he would be able to torture her.

Yes, torture the girl. Torture Granger.

Get his wand. Torture her. Carrow would finally stop pestering him.

Harry jumped for his wand and snatched it off the floor.  
With eyes as hard as steel, Harry murmured the curse words.

"_Crucio!_"

As he said the words, flavours burst in his mouth. Bittersweet, tangy, tart, salty… all of them strong and delightful flavours.

Harry almost choked.

He wielded his wand, pressing on. He had to press on. Hermione was better off lightly hurt than severely by Carrow.

His wand felt so powerful in his hands, so light yet so heavy at the same time. The magic vibrated through his arm, through to his chest, and then it reached out to his pumping heart.

He suddenly felt so open, so _free_. He was so _alive_.

Perhaps he _would _be able to draw out the curse. Just one more minute, then Carrow would let both of them off.

"_Crucio!_" he said, again.

He was so focused on maintaining the curse that this time it was only anguishing screams that pieced his ears that tore him from his world of determination and brought him to his senses.

In front of his eyes, Hermione lay sprawled. She was right across, on the other side of the room. Harry didn't know how she had got there. Her head was bleeding against the wall it rested on.

Hermione's body was writhing, twisting, at impossible angles, as if it had a life of its own.

Harry was scared. It couldn't possibly be him that was doing that to her.

Hermione tossed her head back and screamed again. So ear-splittingly that Harry had the urge to duck for cover.

The curse stopped immediately, now that Harry had lost the will to keep it up.

Hermione stopped screaming straightaway, the shrieks falling into cries and then whimpers. Her body had ceased thrashing but it was still shaking uncontrollably.

Harry found himself washed over by waves after waves of guilt.

He ran over to Hermione and helped her onto her knees.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Hermione didn't reply. She offered him a pained smile, though. He was surprised she wasn't too absorbed in the pain for even that.

Front behind him, came the sound of individual applause.  
Carrow.

"Nicely done, Mr Potter." She threw her head neatly back and laughed. "I couldn't have done better myself."

Apparently he had overdone it. He had made Hermione suffer for more than what was needed. It had been his fault. He had been too fixated on maintaining the power of the curse.

It repulsed Harry that he himself even managed to achieve more at the Cruciatus Curse than what was expected of him by a deatheater. It was disgusting.  
He shouldn't have been able to.  
Didn't he have to want to hurt Hermione for the curse to work?

He couldn't possibly be a sadist, could he?

Harry turned around wildly like a beast and snarled at Carrow, throwing all caution to the winds. "She's my friend," he said, with a sneer worthy of Malfoy.

"Miss Granger is so fortunate, to have a kind friend like you," Alecto Carrow smirked.

The words stung. If they were physical, they would have cut welts all over his skin.

Carrow's lip curled as she glanced at Harry who was crouched over Hermione again. "You may have stronger magical talent than a few of your peers, but it is wasted in a pathetic shell. Mark my words, if you do not harden yourself, you _will_ suffer like no other. Class dismissed."

Harry watched helplessly as the Ravenclaw students helped him carry Hermione all the way to the hospital wing.

He blamed himself for all of it.


	9. Mysterious Mediwitch

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Reminder: I know this chapter will be a little boring, but please still do review! Down below, you will see Neville Longbottom briefly for the first time, and you'll hear about what has happened to Harry's parents.**

**Aside from that, feel free to proceed.**

* * *

"Madam Pomfrey? _Madam Pomfrey!_" shouted a Ravenclaw boy at the top of his lungs. He was supporting Hermione Granger who was half slumped over him with a pained expression.

Harry was glad one of the Ravenclaws came with him. He wouldn't know how to explain the incident and his part in it.

A witch hurried out from behind one of the screen doors. She had her lips pursed disapprovingly.

"With on earth is it with youngsters shouting these –?" Madam Pomfrey suddenly broke off.

Looking immensely shocked as if seeing them for the first time, Madam Pomfrey crossed the room at an incredible speed and snatched Hermione from the Ravenclaw boy before lowering her onto one of the white beds.

"What happened?" came the question.

"Cruciatus," Harry croaked.

Pomfrey's face paled. "Poor dear. The contemptible excuses for human beings that take the liberty to call themselves Professors… I can't believe the nerve of them."

Harry didn't answer, as the female nurse ran a wand over Hermione.

"Is it bad?" he hardly dared to ask.

"Depends on what your definition of 'bad' is. By a student's standards, _very_. By the Headmistress' standards, not really."

Harry's throat felt dry.

Beside him, the Ravenclaw boy stirred, "Surely she can be fixed."

"Of course. All I'll have to do is give her a potion for the pain, and a Calming Draught," replied Pomfrey, not even pausing to take a breath. "It's not too bad, I guess. Not like what Carrow usually does."

Harry could barely contain a sigh of relief. Hermione hadn't been hurt as bad as she would have been if Carrow had performed it. He felt a little bit of guilt ease from his shoulders.

"Headmistress Carrow said Cruciatus Curses were cast on the students who seriously misbehaved," started Harry. "Is Hermione one of the better cases, or…?"

To Harry's surprise, the nurse snorted. "Headmistress Carrow may speak like that, but the majority of the students around here have been punished with the Cruciatus at least once… not the First Years, though… The girl's definitely one of the better cases."

Harry traded a relieved glance with the other Ravenclaw boy.

"In fact, I'm surprised Headmistress Carrow went so easy on the girl."

Swallowing nervously, Harry cleared his throat. "It wasn't actually her…you see, it was me."

Madam Pomfrey could scarcely contain her scandalized look. "It was you," she repeated.

"Yes." He was beginning to wish he'd never spoken. It would have been better.

"You _are_ a First Year?" she questioned incredulously.

"Yeah…" came the awkward reply.

Harry felt a blush coming on.

"I cannot believe it. You didn't look like you'd practised the Dark Arts before coming to Hogwarts. If only you had seen yourself, dear, you were as pale as a sheet when you came in."

"I haven't _ever_ practised the Dark Arts," cried Harry. "I'm muggleborn!"

Madam Pomfrey suddenly squinted at Harry with a puzzled expression. Without warning, she gave a start.

Harry then found himself under a pair of searching eyes which seemed determined to burn holes into his own, emerald orbs.

"Your hair…" said Madam Pomfrey without warning, "Can you ever tame it?"

Harry reddened instantly, feeling the heat creep up his cheeks. "Um, no. Not really. It's…very annoying."

The Ravenclaw boy looked at the school nurse as if she was mad. Harry would have supposed she was if it wasn't for the intelligible way the nurse spoke and held herself.

"In spite of myself," said Madam Pomfrey slowly, "I'd say you have a natural – some would call it _talent_ – for the Dark Arts. However… Just wait while I get the girl her potions. Will you come to my office after lunch?"

"Sure, Madam Pomfrey," stuttered Harry, feeling unsettled.

As Madam Pomfrey darted around the cupboards, collecting the potions, Harry leaned over Hermione's bed.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine!" she said, exasperatedly. "I had a bit of a shock, that's all. My first-ever Cruciatus."

That was when Madam Pomfrey came back with the potions. She gave then to Hermione. After one glance at the thick, puce-colour, Hermione downed them without a word.

"My," Madam Pomfrey marvelled, "most students complain about the taste."

"Whatever for?" Hermione asked, put out. "It's good for you, isn't it?"

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "If only everyone thinks like you, dear."

"Typical Hermione," Harry muttered underneath his breath.

"Do you feel better, dear?" Pomfrey asked.

"Loads," Hermione answered. "Thank you so much. But I think I'll be fine now. We have herbology next. I was looking forward to it, and they're probably half-way through the lesson already!"

"Are you quite sure you do not want to stay and rest, dear?" asked Pomfrey, with a stern expression.

Hermione shook her head vigorously. "I'd miss out on herbology if I stay. Thank you so much, Madam Pomfrey."

"You should be fine now. Lucky for you, the Cruciatus doesn't have too many side-effects. The potions you took probably are already in your system. If everything goes right, you'll be right as rain after an hour," said Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione thanked her again.

After that they left.

However, even after closing the door to the hospital wing behind him, Harry still couldn't forget the look of shock Madam Pomfrey had worn when she had stared into his eyes.

* * *

Professor Sprout was definitely a nice change after Carrow, Harry decided.

Herbology had been pleasant, even if it wasn't particularly suited to his tastes. The stifling air in the greenhouse had made Harry feel slightly woozy, but it had the same effect on all of the students.

According to Professor Sprouts, it affected the plants as well. That was the main reason why the air was so muggy.

The plants, called Leopard Leaflets, were especially vicious compared to many other species. The plants clawed savagely at anything they could wrap themselves around. Harry himself was horrified at the snarling sounds they made while doing so.

The muggy air was to ensue the plants became dazed and _stayed_ dazed.

He had taken immense care to touch any of them on the edges after seeing a Slytherin's arm nearly slit open by the razor-sharp sides of the leaves.

It had left a huge bloody gash on the student's arm, and Professor Sprout had immediately ordered him to the hospital wing.

True to its name, the Leopard Leaflets _did_ have leopard spots. Harry would have actually considered them beautiful if it wasn't for the danger they proved.

Professor Sprout, on the other hand, despite telling them to be careful, had seemed to love the plants unconditionally.

Their mission that day had been to retrieve the oil that leaked out from under the leaves when they were squeezed softly.

It had proved to be a bit of a disaster for many, and even Hermione had seemed considerably less enthusiastic about herbology when they finally came out, but the whole lesson was _pleasant_.

In spite of the fact that Harry couldn't understand why, he was happy to see at least _a few_ students took delight in spending time with the plants.

Though he and the plants hadn't exactly become best pals, Harry did take a liking towards a student Professor Sprout had called to help them.

He was a fifth year Hufflepuff, and it was rather obvious Professor Sprout doted on him. Blatant favouritism, but nobody minded because the Professor was extraordinarily nice to everyone.

It was easy to see, after only several minutes, that Professor Sprout's favouritism wasn't unfounded. The Hufflepuff student's somewhat chubby hands moved with agile skill when it came to handling the plants.

His eyes would sparkle with passion every time he talked about them, and he had not seemed to mind that he was talking to a bunch of First Years that had no idea what he was going on about.

Instead of being grateful that they weren't looked down on by an older year, the Slytherins seemed to deem the boy 'pathetic'.

Professor Sprout had introduced the boy as 'Neville Longbottom', and Harry wasn't sure if she was joking. Professor Sprout didn't seem like the sort who joked about people's last names, though.

To his embarrassment, his House-mates whispered the name 'Longbottom' every time Professor Sprout's back was turned.

Neville's face would turn a faint shade of pink, but he never said anything.

When Neville eventually approached Harry, Harry could see the boy was reluctant. Most likely, it was due to his Slytherin tie. Harry really didn't blame him.  
Slytherins did seem to give him a hard time.

Whatever it was, Harry could see Neville only approached him because his hand was holding the leaf tightly as if clinging on for dear life while the leaf thrashed about, yanking him left and right.

It was obvious, even to a fool, that Harry needed help.

So Neville had offered a helping hand.

"You need some help?" Neville had asked.

"Yeah." Harry panted.

Like aiming for the neck of a venomous snake, Neville dove for the bit of empty space just below the leaf. It instantly let go of Harry.

Try as it might, it was unable to get at the hand that pinned its stem.  
With his free hand, Neville gently squeezed the leaf.  
Oil came out, and Harry hurriedly collected it with the given bowl.

"Thanks," he had said afterwards.

Neville had brushed it aside with a shy smile. "It's fine. I'm glad to help."

"Thanks anyway," said Harry.

"You're not like the other Slytherins."

"They hate me."

"Black sheep, eh? Anyway, if you want other help, advice, homework aid, whatever, I'll be happy to assist you. The Professors here are too busy…and I hardly think you'll want the Headmistress to help you."

Harry had looked up in surprise only to see a knowing look on Neville's grim face.

"Oh yes, I know. I've been here when they've just begun. I was only in third year, then. Keeping my head low is the advice I've received for two whole years."

Somehow, as Harry sat down at the Ravenclaw table beside Hermione for lunch, he knew he could trust the older boy.

There was a haunted look behind Neville's eyes, as if he had seen too much. And Harry had a feeling that there was more to Neville than timid softness.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione trilled. "You're playing with your food."

"Don't feel much like eating," he muttered.

"You have to get _some_ down, at the _very_ least," insisted Hermione in a disapproving tone. "Here…"

Harry choked as Hermione began piling mountains and mountains of vegetables onto his plate, before finally balancing a chicken drumstick on top.

"Are you joking, Hermione?" he asked, gesturing helplessly at his plate. "There's no possible way I can eat all of that."

"Honesty?" Hermione snapped. "I do not joke around when it comes to health."

"Look, Hermione…I can't possibly eat all of this…" Harry begun in a reasonable voice, "ask any clever Ravenclaw if it's good for one's health to eat so much."

"Fine!" Hermione barked.

And Harry had thought she'd given up when she turned haughtily to the Ravenclaw girl next to her and asked in an imperious voice, "What do you think causes someone to die quicker – to eat nothing or to eat a lot?"

The poor girl looked confused for a while before finally answering, "To starve."

Hermione turned triumphantly back towards Harry and shoved the plate he was slowly inching away from right under his nose again. "Eat up!" she demanded.

"I have to go for now, Hermione. I've an appointment with Madam Pomfrey. She wanted something," said Harry, remembering all of a sudden. "Sorry, catch you up later."

He seized his chance and jumped as far away from that particular plate of vegetables as he could before bolting for the hospital wing.

* * *

"Madam Pomfrey?" he asked. "You wanted to see me."

"Ah, hello, dear. Step inside my humble little office, quickly."

Harry obeyed.

Inside the cosy little room, Madam Pomfrey offered him a chair which he accepted graciously.

"…so…" he said, watching curiously as the nurse stood up, took out her wand, and cast several spells on the door.

"Privacy and muffling spells," explained Pomfrey.

By now, Harry's inquisitiveness was starting to get the better of him. "You wanted to tell me something?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "But let's not hurry it. Here, I've made tea."

She handed Harry a china cup. He took it and held it between his two hands.

"Drink up," she urged.

Harry took a small sip. It was the taste of jasmine. He looked up again, only to see Madam Pomfrey gesturing at his cup.

Only after he had downed the whole cup did Pomfrey open her mouth to talk.

"It really actually isn't my place to tell you all of this. Perhaps it is better if you know nothing, but…" Madam Pomfrey trailed off. "I've never been a master chess player. I cannot predict moves and make the correct decision. If I tell you this… your life may turn out for the better or worse."

Harry remained silent, though his heart was beginning to race.  
He sensed that this was something important.

"Minerva must have seen you at the sorting… I don't understand why _she_ didn't tell you," said Madam Pomfrey, looking unexpectedly drained. "Harry, did she say anything…_personal_ to you?"

Harry gave a start. "I've never told you my name."

Madam Pomfrey gave a tired smile. "You never did. Harry Potter. Your name is Harry Potter. The thing is… you see…" – she sighed – "I knew your parents."

For a moment, Harry thought he had misheard. Then, his heart stopped.

Swallowing, Harry looked up at the nurse excitedly.  
"Are they _alive_?" were his first words.

Madam Pomfrey's expression became such a crushing picture of sadness that Harry knew instantly they were not.

"Yes, I know," he said miserably, "they died in a car crash."

"They did not!"

It wasn't Madam Pomfrey who had spoken.

The magically padlocked doors flew open to reveal one severe-looking Minerva McGonagall.

Ignoring Harry, she marched up fiercely towards Madam Pomfrey, nostrils flaring.

"Poppy, are you insane?!" Professor McGonagall questioned brusquely. She slapped her hand harshly down on the desk in front of Madam Pomfrey. "Are you an idiot?"

Harry recoiled, intimidated by the Gryffindor Head's austere use of words.

Madam Pomfrey, however, only looked up and gave a small smile. "How did you get in, Minerva?"

The Professor closed her eyes for a moment and attempted to calm herself down before gritting her teeth.

"You may be an excellent mediwitch, Poppy, but you are still lacking at charms," McGonagall snapped angrily. "Do you know what this means? If I can get in, so can the Headmistress!"

"I doubt it," answered Madam Pomfrey. "While the Headmistress may hold more power in the school, she is hardly an equal to you when it comes to magic."

McGonagall huffed in an argumentative way. "That may be so," she said grimly. "But what if the Dark Lord comes in? These fragile spells are not even going to endure one second if he puts his mind to opening the door."

Madam Pomfrey smiled gently again. "Minerva, the day the Dark Lord comes into the hospital wing is the day I turn into a deatheater."

"You don't know that."

Harry felt oddly like an intruder as the two adults argued.

"Oh, Minerva. Paranoid, after all these years," said Pomfrey softly.

"It's called caution," retorted McGonagall.

"Call it what you want, Minerva," answered Madam Pomfrey. "But will you please dismiss yourself while I tend to my guest?"

"Poppy!" Professor McGonagall cried out in exasperation. "Do be sensible. What is it that makes you so desperate to tell him? Do really you think it'll make him happier knowing his father is a dea –?"

"Knowing my father is a what?" asked Harry.

McGonagall bit her lip anxiously. "Knowing your father is a dead man. I'm sorry, Potter – I should have been more considerate with my words."

Madam Pomfrey shot Professor McGonagall a glare and mouthed something Harry couldn't make out.

"Truth, Minerva. He deserves to know the truth. It's easier if he finds out earlier rather than later," said Madam Pomfrey.

"It's better if he _never_ finds out!" McGonagall snapped, her spectacles nearly falling off in her vehemence. "You're putting yourself in unnecessary danger, Poppy. The Dark Lord will not be happy!"

"Don't kid yourself, Minerva. It isn't as if _you_ care about what Lord Voldemort thinks. Besides, we three are the only witnesses. It isn't as if you or I are going to tell the Dark Lord."

McGonagall's hands found Madam Pomfrey's shoulders and gripped them tightly. "What about Potter, Poppy? What if his tongue somehow slips? Poppy, _think_ about it! You're entrusting your safety in the hands of an eleven year old _child_!"

"I'm not a child!" protested Harry softly, but neither Pomfrey nor the Gryffindor Head paid him any attention.

"Minerva, of course I trust him with my life! He's Lily's son!" Madam Pomfrey defended. "And so should you."

"He's still a _child_!"

"_Lily's_ child!"

"You've forgotten, Poppy. He's also _Potter's_!"

There was a long-lasting silence.  
Madam Pomfrey let out a sigh. "Minerva, you're stepping over the line."

To Harry's surprise, the Professor did not retaliate but relented with a guilty look.  
"I'm sorry," breathed Professor McGonagall. "I didn't mean it…"

Madam Pomfrey waved it aside.  
"We have to tell him, Minerva. Besides, he already knows too much. It's better if we tell him than let him figure out for himself."

"There's no reason why we shouldn't use a memory charm," said McGonagall quietly.

Harry jumped up abruptly.  
"No!" he shouted fervently. "They're my parents!"

"You know –" McGonagall began.

"If both your parents were dead, wouldn't _you_ want to hear the truth?" said Harry. "No matter _how_ much the truth hurts. Because not knowing would hurt so much more."

Harry purposely threw in the last part based on what he had heard from the argument.

Perhaps it was the last part that chased away the remaining bits of Professor McGonagall's stubbornness and made her surrender.

"_Fine_, Poppy," McGonagall glared. "You win. But _I_ tell Potter, and _I_ decide how much he hears."

"That's bringing danger to you, Minerva," objected Madam Pomfrey, unsmilingly.

"It's either that or nothing," said the House Head determinedly.

"If you're sure," conceded the nurse.

"You better take a seat, Potter," said Professor McGonagall grimly. "It's a long story, and we don't want you fainting."

"I won't," promised Harry eagerly. He sat down as Madam Pomfrey poured him more of the jasmine tea.

"You see, Harry, your parents did not die in a car crash…" was the Professor's first sentence. "There was no possible way a car crash could have killed Lily and James Potter, for they were magical."

The shock hit Harry like a huge wave. From listening to the adults' argument, Harry had suspected something of the sort – but the same thing being said by Minerva McGonagall was a whole different experience.

His parents, magical! Harry couldn't believe it. He couldn't help but wonder what his childhood would have been like if his parents had been alive.

What he also didn't expect was that Uncle Vernon lied.

"But Uncle Vernon said that –"

"Don't listen to your relatives in the future, then," said McGonagall curtly. "They're the worst kind of muggles."

"If Mum and Dad had magic, then I am a pureblood, right?" asked Harry.

"A halfblood," corrected McGonagall. "Lily was a muggleborn and James was from a long line of purebloods."

"Then why shouldn't people te –"

"If you keep on interrupting me, Mr Potter –"

"Sorry! I won't anymore, Professor."

McGonagall cleared her throat critically. "Lily and James went to school together. I taught them. Lily was a marvellous student, very bright. She used to love Potions and Charms. Lily was obsessed with books, much like a dedicated Ravenclaw. She was sorted into Gryffindor, however.  
I remember Lily didn't quite fit into Gryffindor. She never got used to the Gryffindors 'tactlessly' saying what they thought of one another. She also didn't like seeing them fight 'like a bunch of stray cats'.  
She and Severus were the best of friends. They knew each other even before they came to Hogwarts."

"Professor _Snape_ and my mother were friends?" Harry asked disbelievingly.

Somehow his mother being friends with the snarky bat seemed impossible to him.

"Yes. And don't you go and bother Professor Snape about it.  
Anyway, although James was a rogue running wild, playing tricks on the Slytherins with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, he was also very talented. A natural at Transfigurations. Together, he and his friends – Sirius, Remus and Peter – formed a group and called themselves the Marauders. The Marauders were very popular at Hogwarts, even amongst the girls. For James, on the other hand, there was only one girl he had a crush on."

Here, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat awkwardly.

Harry could see she wasn't into all the romantic things.  
"My mother," he said.

"Your mother," McGonagall agreed. "Unfortunately for him, Lily didn't exactly have the same ideas about him."

For the first time since Harry had seen her, Professor McGonagall let a small grin waft across her face.

"James was a little too keen to show off at that time, like all other boys. Lily was sick of him. She called him a stupid sod in front of a whole crowd of students and Professors.  
It was quite a few years later that Lily finally started dating him. James truly loved her. Sometime after they graduated from Hogwarts, they married. That was when things started going wrong."

Harry listened, entranced, as McGonagall continued her story.

"At that time, the whole wizarding world was in chaos. The Dark Lord and his team of deatheaters were fighting Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry."

"Who's Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"A brilliant man. Dumbledore was dubbed the nickname 'Leader of the Light'. He did all he could to vanquish Lord Voldemort and the prejudices against muggleborns. He led the Order of the Phoenix, a group of people volunteering to join his cause," said Professor McGonagall. "Both Lily and James joined the Order."

Harry nodded. He could imagine it all; his parents fighting beside Dumbledore to bring Voldemort down.

"Drink your tea!" called Madam Pomfrey from the corner of the room.

Obeying, Harry lifted the cup to his lips and sipped at the calming fluid.

"Lily, a clever young woman, did the Order credit. She would research tirelessly for hours in the library, trying to find whatever Dumbledore asked her to find. She was close friends with many other female members – Alice Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, and Molly Weasley," recalled Professor McGonagall.

Harry jerked. "Alice Longbottom?"

He'd recognise that last name anywhere. "Is she related to Neville Longbottom?"

"Where did you learn of him?" said McGonagall. "She is Mr Longbottom's mother."

"Is she still alive?" asked Harry.

Professor McGonagall shook her head, no.

"What happened to her?"

"It is not my place to say. You'd have to ask Neville if you want to know."

Harry nodded understandingly.

"As for your father, James," Professor McGonagall continued, "he remained friends with the rest of the Marauders, who all joined the Order. But one Marauder, his name was Peter Pettigrew, stepped across the line between good and evil. He joined Lord Voldemort."

"That's awful," said Harry.

"It is," McGonagall agreed. "What's even –"

She broke off, looking hesitantly towards Madam Pomfrey who gestured at her to continue. McGonagall shook her head quickly at Madam Pomfrey.

"You have to tell him, Minerva. He has to know," said the mediwitch.

Exhaling, McGonagall turned back towards Harry. "What is even worse than that is that…" she trailed off again.

Harry looked at her desperately. "What's even worse?"

"He…" McGonagall looked Harry dead in the eye. "Peter Pettigrew dragged James to the dark side with him. James Potter became a deatheater."

* * *

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**Reminder: Review, please.  
More on Harry's parents in the next chapter and there's a bit of Harry/Voldemort interaction which you have all been waiting for.**


	10. The Truth

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

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**For those of you who were waiting for the truth behind James Potter.**

* * *

"What do you mean? Wormtail captured my dad for Voldemort?"

"Your father, James Potter, became one of Lord Voldemort's followers."

"My dad was a _deatheater_?" questioned Harry, in an unbelieving voice. His mind hadn't fully registered what had been said.

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter," said McGonagall gravely. "I didn't think you were ready for –"

"You're lying!" cried Harry harshly, his face contorting. "You know it's not true!"

"It is, Harry," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Your father _was_ a deatheater…" McGonagall held up a hand as for Harry not to interrupt, "…but he was also a good man."

"You don't understand!" shouted Harry, enraged. "My dad would never have gone with Voldemort. Have you _seen_ the things Voldemort does?!"

"You need to hear the full story, Mr Potter," said McGonagall firmly.

Harry jumped up vehemently. "I don't think so," he said coldly. "I've had enough."

He shoved past the two adults, and ran for the door.

McGonagall aimed an accusing look at Madam Pomfrey before flicking her wrist at the door. The lock instantly snapped shut, barring Harry's way.

"Let me out!" he said.

"Mr Potter, please calm yourself down!" insisted Professor McGonagall. "You need to hear the full story."

Harry disagreed.

He felt tentacles from McGonagall's magic wrap themselves around him tightly. They then hauled him back bodily into the chair he had jumped out of.

"Sorry, Mr Potter," said McGonagall. "But if you cannot control yourself, I'll have to."

At that, magical ropes tied him securely to his chair. All struggles were in vain.

"Minerva!" protested Madam Pomfrey, shocked at McGonagall's forcefulness. "You can't keep him in here if he doesn't –"

Professor McGonagall whirled around and glared at the mediwitch. "Poppy Pomfrey, do you have any idea what you're saying? I was against this whole thing since the very beginning. I should never have agreed to tell him! If we let him out now, in this state, do you really think there'll be good outcomes?"

Pomfrey lowered her head in acceptance. "The poor boy _is_ in a state. Even under the influence of a Calming Draught… he reacts like this…"

"What?" snapped McGonagall. "What are you talking about?"

"The jasmine tea, it's spiked with a Calming Draught."

Harry stopped resisting for a moment and stared at the mediwitch. No wonder she had been so keen to get the tea down his throat. "You didn't even tell me," he accused.

"Mr Potter –" began Madam Pomfrey.

"Poppy! You did it for his own good."

Harry glared at the Gryffindor Head. Now that he had calmed a little, he couldn't see a point in their lying.  
But on the other hand, it couldn't possibly be true. His father would never have done something like that.

Sighing, Professor McGonagall brushed back a strand of free hair that had fallen from her bun. "Just please listen, Potter, to the full story."

Harry leaned back into his chair with a resigned look. If Professor McGonagall was so determined to tell him the whole thing, he didn't see how he could stop her.

"As a young man, Mr Potter, your father was attracted to the greater powers. You must understand that. He was still young and ignorant – unable to separate good from bad," said the Gryffindor Head, looking almost relieved that Harry did not try to interrupt.  
"James wanted to be famous, he wanted to be great. All those time at Hogwarts, he focused too much on pulling pranks, having fun with the Marauders, chasing Lily, and studying to think about anything else…"

Harry managed to keep his blank mask intact.  
When was it that his dad had succumbed to the pull of the Dark Arts?

"When James got out of Hogwarts, he married Lily. That kept him content and settled for a while," said Professor McGonagall. "However, your father had an adventurous streak. If there weren't enough things to distract him, he would find trouble."

Harry found his heart hurting at the description. Somehow, it seemed to bring the dad of his imagination to life.  
Cheerful, carefree, and daring, was how he imagined James Potter.

"When James found himself out of school and living a settled marriage life with only Lily to keep him in line, he started dreaming again. He dreamed big. He wanted to bring about change, to have influence; he wanted fame."

Harry's throat constricted. He himself had never even considered the things his dad dreamed.

"When James spoke to Peter about his desires, Peter, who was already serving the Dark Lord at that time, told James about Lord Voldemort's cause. At that time, it seemed the perfect escape from the dreary ordinary life he lived."

Harry listened, expressionless.

"So James became a minor, low-ranked deatheater – and remained like that for a year or so. Do not take me wrong; your father was a very talented wizard… however for whatever reason, Lord Voldemort did not realise James' ability."

Harry looked at Professor McGonagall's grim face and inwardly felt cold.

"James was furious. How was it that those deatheaters of less talent than he had risen to the inner circle while he remained unworthy? From that time onwards, James developed an unhealthy obsession – he became obsessed with getting Lord Voldemort to recognise his potential. Soon he came up with a plan."

Harry shuddered. His own dad acting like Voldemort's little lapdog, craving for attention, seemed like an unbelievable nightmare-ish truth that he simply could not bring himself to accept.  
His dad was supposed to be an upright and honourable man… not one of Voldemort's worshipping cronies.

"Lord Voldemort needed inside information from the Order of Phoenix, but he did not have enough spies. At that time your father had not yet joined the Order but James knew that he, being a past Hogwarts student with a good reputation and a popular Gryffindor who was favoured by his peers and his teachers, was in the perfect position to aid Lord Voldemort. And so, he asked for an audience with Lord Voldemort and eagerly proposed his idea" – here McGonagall sighed – "The Dark Lord liked the sound of his plan and ordered James to take up his position by Dumbledore's side and join the Order of the Phoenix."

"He was a spy for the Dark Lord," said Harry, his voice flat. It wasn't even phrased as a question…just a dead, flat tone that nailed the truth in its purest form.

"He was a spy for the Dark Lord," affirmed McGonagall. "He also persuaded Lily, Sirius, Peter and Remus to join him. Together, they became the new members of Dumbledore's resistance. Needless to say, Dumbledore was overjoyed when they told him they wanted to join… but I obviously cannot blame him when I, myself, too was delighted."

Harry's face sagged depressingly. "So my mom was a deatheater too, a deatheater spy? And all the rest of my dad's friends?"

"Oh no!" cried McGonagall. "You misunderstand. Lily was ever so loyal to the Order, as were Remus and Sirius. They didn't even know your father served the Dark Lord until the very end. No, only your father and Peter were spies."

"Was my dad really so blood-thirsty? He stayed by Voldemort's side even when he saw all the killing and torture?" Harry questioned.

"Obviously your father had heard of killings and torture sessions. But being one of the lower ranked deatheaters, he was less exposed to those. He himself never committed any murders. It's different; seeing someone killed than killing them yourself. Since James never did the latter, he wasn't subjected to the full horror of Lord Voldemort's kingdom. As for Lord Voldemort's hatred towards muggleborns and his orders against them – James tried to overlook it. Not for one moment did he agree with the things Voldemort accused muggleborns of being."

"My mom was muggleborn!" Harry exploded. "I don't see how my dad not agreeing with some of what Voldemort says makes him a good man!"

"Minerva will get to that later," soothed Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes, I will," said McGonagall, eyes narrowing warningly at Harry for him to stay quiet. "In a matter of a few seconds, James had caught Lord Voldemort's full attention – and in a matter of days, he was let into the inner circle. A few months later, Lord Voldemort was demanding for the whereabouts of the Longbottoms. At that time, you were also born. In an attempt to impress the Dark Lord and to stay with you and Lily without going on missions, James gave the information to him. James regretted it deeply afterwards – for the Longbottoms had never done anything immoral to him."

"Neville!" said Harry.

"Neville's parents. Lord Voldemort hunted them down and took a vital piece of information from them. The Longbottoms had been secret-keepers for the headquarters of the Order. Lord Voldemort extracted that information from them," said McGonagall, shaking her head. "It was a disaster when the Dark Lord struck during one of our meetings. His deatheaters killed quite a few of our members and wounded even more. The survivors barely escaped with their lives, and even that was thanks to Dumbledore, who held them off."

"What happened to the Longbottoms?" asked Harry suddenly.

"They hadn't wanted to give Lord Voldemort the information but –"

"They died, didn't they?" said Harry. "They died trying to protect it."

McGonagall reluctantly nodded. "Neville Longbottom had only been four at that time. Lord Voldemort thought it would be ironic if Mr Longbottom, with prominent Order members for parents, grew up parentless. That was why he was allowed to live."

Harry was looking horrified. "All because of my dad."

"No," corrected McGonagall. "He had no idea what consequences his actions would bring. And only Dumbledore knew the Longbottoms were secret-keepers."

"Did Dumbledore die in the attack?" Harry asked.

"No, fortunately. He fled after all the surviving Order members were safe. Lord Voldemort didn't manage to catch him. However, the remaining Order members had scattered and nearly all their work had been scratched into nothingness. We lost many of our friends, some of us lost families, and mostly importantly, we lost hope. Lily was devastated – taking it harder than the rest of us."

"Why? Was my dad found out?"

"No. His spy position was safe, but your mother lost her two closest Order friends: Alice Longbottom and Marlene McKinnon. Seeing what he had brought upon his friends, James too was distraught. From that moment on, he was no longer Lord Voldemort's man. He wanted out. James went to Lord Voldemort and demanded to quit. But there was no quitting. Lord Voldemort threatened James with Lily and you. The Dark Lord wanted a recorded location of all the remaining Order members from James… only that way would you and your mother be safe."

Harry's teeth gritted together. It was the lowest of moves; to blackmail someone with someone they cared about. But then Voldemort had always been vile.

"Your father didn't want to. He owed the Order enough already. He loved many members like family. Not to mention Sirius and Remus were both in the Order. But he couldn't put you and Lily's life at risk. So he wrote down all the locations he knew. Lord Voldemort was satisfied but there was no telling whether he intended to keep his promise on not harming Lily." McGonagall closed her eyes tiredly for a moment.  
"When James got back, he bemoaned his second betrayal. He was so consumed by remorse that he couldn't stand by and watch while Lord Voldemort sent his deatheaters to track down the Order members. James wrote messages on slips of papers – short messages that barely explained what had happened clearly, and sent them out to every member. Despite the shortness, it was enough. I had been one of the first ones Lord Voldemort tracked down. As soon as I received James' message, I flooed to Dumbledore. The deatheaters arrived at my house few moments later."

Harry winced slightly as he listened. Clearly Professor McGonagall's life had been in danger. It was unbearable, to know how many mistakes his dad made… but it too was his dad who saved the Order members.

"Lord Voldemort soon caught news of James' unfaithfulness. He personally hunted Lily, James, and you down. He killed your parents and left you alive. You were one year old. He spent the next few years tracking down scattered Order members but it wasn't until seven years later that he killed Dumbledore and could finally declare official victory to his deatheaters. There was no proof that Dumbledore was dead… Voldemort must have disposed of the body...Dumbledore never contacted me again."

"What about you, Professor?" Harry asked.

"Lord Voldemort kept me alive because I was no longer a threat, and so can continue to teach Hogwarts."

"Oh."

"This is the full story, and now that it's finished, I personally think it's time for you to leave, Mr Potter. I don't really see a point in you going to your afternoon classes like this. Madam Pomfrey will give you two Calming Draughts and a Sleeping Draught to take back to your dormitory. The Sleeping Draught will help you go to sleep immediately," said McGonagall.

"Okay," said Harry, with as much calm as he could muster. "I'm sorry about earlier –"

"An apology isn't necessary," dismissed McGonagall.

"I have just one more question," said Harry. "If my dad played such a big part in Voldemort's victory, shouldn't he at least remember my dad's last name? Voldemort didn't seem to recognise me or anything when he learnt my name in Diagon Alley."

"Trust me, Mr Potter, the Dark Lord knows exactly who you are," said McGonagall austerely. "It's best if you keep your distance from him. He isn't exactly the safest person to be around."

"I will," said Harry simply.

* * *

The more Harry thought about it, the more dreadful it seemed to become. He still couldn't believe what his dad had done.

Perhaps if his dad had not accidentally given Voldemort such a big advantage, he would not have won the war.

Harry knew Professor McGonagall had downplayed it. She really was admirable; calling a man who had caused her so much grief a 'good man'.  
Harry couldn't help but feel indebted to her.

He was so immersed in his thoughts that he almost tripped over one of the stairs on the staircase.

"Watch out, Mr Potter," came a cool voice. "You wouldn't want to injure yourself."

Harry whirled around, saw the face of the speaker, and stopped dead in his tracks.  
"Voldemort," he said, in a low voice.

"Hmm. Most people refer to me as _Lord_ Voldemort nowadays." Voldemort's tone was amused.

Harry felt a burning hatred for the dark wizard. He wished he could rip the man to shreds right then and there – no, not _man_, _beast_; Voldemort was a disgrace to mankind.

However, with an enormous amount of self-control, Harry bit out the word, "Sorry."

He figured it would be better to act meek – if only for now. Voldemort wasn't the most predictable of people… and Harry wanted to blend in with the other students.

He had already caught more than enough of Voldemort's attention.

"Taking the afternoon off? What are you doing out of class?" asked the Dark Lord in a conversational tone. "Skipping classes on the first day? Tut tut…naughty boy."

"I have permission," said Harry vigilantly, "from Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey."

Voldemort's eyes suddenly gleamed wickedly. "Really? Professor McGonagall? Already getting special treatment, are we? Though I thought it should really be Professor Snape you get it from… you're in Slytherin, aren't you?"

The Dark Lord cast a sideways glance at Harry's Slytherin tie.

"Yes," answered Harry, with his head lowered in a submissive manner.  
If he wanted to pretend, he might as well do it properly.

"Hmmm…" Voldemort said musingly. "That _is_ rather surprising – what with your vehemence in Diagon Alley and all... Are you quite sure the Sorting Hat hadn't put you in Gryffindor?"

"The Sorting Hat said I belonged in Slytherin…although," Harry couldn't help but add, "I disagree."

Voldemort looked at Harry and chuckled. "Really? I must tell you, Mr Potter, that Slytherin, in fact, is my favourite house."

"I know," said Harry quietly, unthinkingly.  
He was starting to feel like he had spent too long with the Dark Lord. Professor McGonagall had specifically told him that he was to stay away from Voldemort.

"Oh, yes?" The Dark Lord raised a delicate eyebrow. "Elaborate?"

Harry nearly slapped himself. Of all the things he could have said, did he seriously have to spew out those two words?  
It wasn't like he wanted to keep what the Sorting Hat had told him a tight secret, but…

_Lie your way out of it! _His brain instinctively instructed him. _Lie!_

"The other Slytherins were boasting about how you used to be a Slytherin," said Harry quickly.

If he had to say so himself, he was actually quite proud of the lie. He had learnt ages ago that the closer to the truth a lie was, the more believable it was.  
Another trick was to keep the lie vague; Harry hadn't told Voldemort exactly _which_ Slytherin had boasted.

Harry's satisfaction, unfortunately, was instantly blown away when Voldemort narrowed his eyes at him.

Harry was suddenly struck by an urge to stare deeply into Voldemort's eyes. He tried to resist, but found his eyes slowly trailing up the Dark Lord's face until he was gazing right into two pools of blue ice.

He felt a sort of pull, as if a vacuum cleaner was sucking something out of him, before he managed to break off his gaze.

Voldemort's face darkened dangerously and he took a purposeful step towards Harry.

Harry took a step back.

"Mr Potter, I must tell you that I do not appreciate people lying to my face," said Voldemort slowly, his expression cold. "I do not see why you wasted your energy on telling an unnecessary lie and risked my wrath."

The veiled threat behind the words was only too clear to Harry.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his head lowered in fake humility.

"You should be."  
Voldemort inched towards Harry calmly. "Why have you become so respectful since our last encounter? You can't have been punished by the Headmistress already?"

Harry stepped back in masked disgust. "Please excuse me… my _Lord_," he said. "If there's nothing else, I'll be going…"

He took another involuntary step back as Voldemort moved lithely in front of him to casually block his way.

"No, no, not yet, Mr Potter…" said Voldemort, smiling. "Are you still nervous from our last meeting in Diagon Alley? Surely you must know, Mr Potter, I mean no harm."

Harry suppressed a snort.  
_Voldemort meaning no harm?_ Even the very concept was ridiculous. He wouldn't have believed it if Professor McGonagall personally told him that.

"Of course, My Lord," said Harry mildly, careful to watch his tone. "Is there…anything I can help you with?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I'd like you to give Professor McGonagall a message. Just tell her that Lord Voldemort knows everything she has told the boy, including a matter concerning a disloyal deatheater. Tell her not to try to hide anything from Lord Voldemort next time, because he knows everything."

Harry blanched. Fear gripped at his heart. Voldemort had known exactly was going on. He couldn't believe it.

What was going to happen to Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey now?  
Harry trembled from head to toe. If they were killed, it would be his fault alone.

"Surprised?" asked Voldemort, raising an eyebrow.

"How…" Harry swallowed. "How did you find out?"

The Dark Lord smirked in a pleased sort of way. "A magician never reveals his tricks."

Harry took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down a little. It didn't work.  
The longer he stood alone on the staircase with Lord Voldemort, the more uneasy he felt.

"What are you going do with Professor McGonagall?" Harry finally asked, reluctantly.

"Do with her?" repeated Voldemort. "Nothing at all. Truth be told, I do not mind at all that she has gone ahead and told you. However I dislike Hogwarts staff keeping secrets from me."

"They just wanted to tell me. They thought you would disapprove… that's why they didn't ask you first," explained Harry. He was careful about where he trod – every word was vital. If he said the wrong thing, there was no telling what the Dark Lord would do.

"They weren't planning on ever telling me," commented Voldemort lightly.

Harry thought it would be better to tell the truth this time. "No, they weren't."

"Hmmm…"

Harry remained silent, hoping Voldemort wouldn't snap his wand out and storm the hospital wing.

"Are you enjoying your time here, Mr Potter?" asked Voldemort, out of the blue.

Harry blinked confusedly at the sudden change of subject. "It's…all right."

"Without doubt Professor McGonagall has told you about the revoltingly cruel man sorcerer who wields the Dark Arts with blinking an eyelid – who murders as naturally as a bird can fly. Surely you didn't think I would leave Hogwarts, such a priceless treasure, unguarded, did you? Bellatrix Lestrange from Diagon Alley…she is the muggle studies professor here. Severus Snape, one of my most dedicated followers, is the potions master. And the Headmistress also obeys every one of my orders; my wish is her command."

Harry choked back an angry retort.

"I also know my deatheaters are the source of your unpleasant experiences here," said Voldemort nonchalantly.

"What do you _want_ with me?" Harry blurted out in sudden rage.

"Uh," said Lord Voldemort with a faint smirk. "I knew I could get you to react."

Harry clenched his fists.

"Don't flatter yourself, Mr Potter, you are nothing special… just a little distraction from my boredom…you _are_ the son of my dead follower after all. Don't worry; after today, I won't bother you any more. I'll have other things to think about, like how Severus and Bella are progressing…" Voldemort drifted off.

Harry flushed a beetroot red in spite of the relieved feeling in his chest. He had no doubt Voldemort was being completely honest.  
Perhaps he was being too paranoid, thinking the Dark Lord wanted anything to do with him.

"You may go now, Mr Potter. I have other businesses that require my attendance," said Voldemort, with a lazy wave of the hand. "Other more important businesses."

That was how Harry found himself walking as fast as he could towards the Slytherin dormitory.

* * *

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	11. Dumbledore's Army

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Reminder: Please, please review. **

**Anyway, I know very well that people are feeling impatient for the plot part of Harry and Voldemort. Some are even feeling that the summary is actually completely unrelated to the story. Of course, I don't blame them. But I can assure you that this is only the build-up, and Harry will be attracting Voldemort's attention again soon. Perhaps in the next few chapters.**

**Feel free to proceed.**

* * *

"Harry!" hissed Hermione, dragging him to the front of Snape's classroom. "Something's bothering you."

"Class is going to be starting soon, Hermione," warned Harry, leaning back in his chair. "And I have a feeling Professor Snape isn't going to be particularly happy with you if you continue talking like this."

"Harry!" Hermione snapped. "You've been behaving like this for days! Tell me what happened that afternoon."

"Nothing."

A week had gone by since Harry had been introduced to James Potter's past, and since Voldemort had last disturbed him. It was perhaps fortunate that Voldemort kept to his word and his distance.

Hogwarts was amazing, Harry now had to admit. He had been through most of the classes at least once.

Charms had been one of his favourites. Professor Flitwick was a tiny man but he was fond of using big spells. Impressive ones.  
The students had already learned how to conjure rum. A Gryffindor student named Seamus Finnigan had managed to explode the goblet while chanting, "Eye of rabbit, harp string hum, turn this water into rum."  
To his surprise, Harry had been one of the first students to complete the task, and in turn received ten house points from Professor Flitwick and a nod of acknowledgement from Blaise Zabini.

Harry and Hermione both had been late for Transfiguration earlier in the week. It was largely due to him oversleeping, but he thought it was a bit rich of Hermione to _still_ be complaining about it.  
At first they thought they had gotten away with it, but later it turned out Professor McGonagall had been watching them the whole time in the form of a tabby cat.  
The class itself had been enjoyable, with everybody learning how to transfigure toe nails into feathers. Harry actually succeeded in narrowly beat Hermione in the actual 'quality of the feathers' – or so Professor McGonagall said – despite losing at the quantity.  
And Hermione hadn't exactly been pleased. Her mood had got even worse when Professor McGonagall gave them both detentions with Snape for arriving in class late.

He and Hermione both had to clean out ten cauldrons each for Professor Snape, who had seemed maliciously satisfied with their detention; greeting them when they came in with a, "What a pleasure to see you here. I do hope you've both done your homework – because you won't have time for homework when you get back."  
Harry had known, then and there, that Snape had meant every word.  
Annoying, greasy dungeon bat.

The first Potions class had been one of Harry's biggest disasters. His natural talent at the other subjects apparently did little to aid him in potions.  
At first, Harry seemed to be doing very well, despite Snape constantly breathing down his neck. Harry was following all the instructions, and he was ahead of the other students, and his potion was turning the lovely blue it was supposed to be. It all went perfectly smoothly until he came to the last set of instructions on the board: stir five times clockwise with your wand.  
It was really weird. The moment Harry dipped his wand in the blue liquid, there was an exploding sound and the potion spurted everywhere; all over his clothes, all over the floor, all over a boy who was sitting next to him, and all over Professor Snape who had been watching him intently.

This was why Harry was dreading it this time, but with Hermione asking him about that afternoon, worrying about facing Snape's wrath was no longer Harry's priority.

"Harry!" insisted Hermione exasperatedly.

"All right, fine!" Harry threw both his hands up. "I'll tell you later, okay?"

Hermione slammed down her books on the desk in frustration. "I'm been asking you about it all week, and you've told me you'd tell me later about a hundred times!"

"I'm sorry, then!" hissed Harry. "It's none of your business anyway!"

Hermione recoiled, stung.

Spreading his palms out in emphasis, Harry said, "Pardon my tone, but it _is_ true. We all know you love reading books and gaining new knowledge and all…but I'm not an open book for you to read and you really don't have to know _everything_!"

"Oh, really?" whispered Hermione in a stiff voice. "Is this what I seem to you? A nosy, book-obsessed geek?"

"Hermione," said Harry, "you _are_ overly curious, you _are_ obsessed with books, and _you_ are a geek."

Hermione sniffed and crossed her arms. "Very well then, don't tell me. But I'll –"

The door banged open and Professor Snape strode him, his black cloak flapping behind him.

"Get your cauldrons out. The potion we're making today is the Swelling Solution. Don't let me see you dawdling around or accidentally skipping instructions. You may all go and get your ingredients. I expect everyone to be finished in forty-five minutes. Starting now," said Snape, his lip curling menacingly.

The sounds of chairs scraping sounded all around the room as Hermione haughtily stood up. "I'll go get the ingredients," she said stiffly to him. "You can stay here."

When she came back, they worked without talking for half an hour. Harry emptied a whole jar of bat spleens into the cauldron while Hermione crushed dried nettles in the mortar. When they came to the last instruction, Harry's doubts arose again.

"Why don't you do it?" suggested Harry tentatively to Hermione. "Stir it with your wand two times anticlockwise and once clockwise."

"Don't you want to do it?" she questioned brusquely.

"Last time, my potion exploded. I wouldn't want to ruin it again."

"Fine."

Hermione got out her wand and pointedly stirred the potion. It immediately turned into the desired colour.  
She leaned back into her chair and glared at Harry emphatically.  
"Well, that was very difficult," said Hermione.

"Exactly," deadpanned Harry, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Hermione rolled her eyes and filled the empty flask with the potion. "You can give it to Professor Snape."

Without another word, Harry took the flask and marched towards Snape's desk.

"Well done, Mr Potter." Snape smirked at the flask as it was placed in front of him. "Twenty points to Slytherin."

Harry waited for Snape to give Ravenclaw points, but the Potions master turned away. He saw Hermione's fluffy head jerk up and her eyes narrowing.

"Professor, you forgot Hermione," said Harry, awkwardly, feeling as if he ought to put something in for Hermione.

"Oh?" said Snape. He turned and sneered at Hermione who was sitting a few seats away. "Very well, five points from Ravenclaw for not coming up herself."

Harry saw Hermione's eyes widen in surprise and hurt, and felt marginally annoyed at the Slytherin Head. He frowned at Professor Snape who ignored him.

There had been rumours that Professor Snape favoured his own house. Harry had now seen for himself exactly how true those rumours were.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Harry made for his desk again.

Just as he was passing by, Malfoy stuck out his leg deliberately, a look of vicious amusement on his face.

Not expecting it, Harry stumbled. He tipped forward as he struggled to find his balance. His involuntarily flailing arms hit Malfoy's cauldron.

Instantly, with a deafening crack, the brass cauldron exploded. Not just the potion – but the whole cauldron.

Eyes widening, Harry saw Malfoy's mud-coloured potion surge forward, out from the cauldron, spraying directly onto Malfoy.

Perhaps, in this case, Malfoy was unfortunate in making his potion correctly. The flesh on his hands almost immediately started swelling up like a balloon. His hands continued to expand until they were as plump as ripe tomatoes and as big as small melons.

"Oww!" Malfoy cried out – whether in shock or pain, Harry didn't know.

Professor Snape's ever alert eyes spontaneously narrowed in their direction.

"Professor!" Draco howled. "Potter threw something explosive in my cauldron."

"I didn't!" Harry protested. "I barely touched it. He tripped me."

Professor Snape's face was indifferent as he shoved his way past the desks towards the pair of them.

Harry also saw Hermione peering concernedly at him.

"Did you or did you not wreak his potion, Potter?" asked Snape, aloofly.

"I didn't!"

"Stop lying, Potter!" shouted Malfoy, his face turning redder by the second.

"Silence!" Snape interrupted impatiently as he bent down.  
Professor Snape wiped a bit of it off with his index finger, ignoring the swelling that immediately began. He turned it this way and that, inspecting it at different angles before finally lifting it towards his nose and taking a whiff.

"It's not caused by an object," said the Professor slowly. "At least not an object a student can get their hands on."

"How do you know, Professor?" said Malfoy, his face disbelieving.

"If it was some sort of explosive, only the cauldron would be harmed – the potion itself would be untouched. In its natural state, the Swelling Potion has no smell. However, in this case, there is an aroma that I cannot name on the potion. This suggests that it is magic that triggered the explosion – and the currant smell of the potion is the scent of the magic that triggered it."

Malfoy listened, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. "But…but Professor! Potter did do something to it, I swear! He's lying! My potion was perfectly fine until he came along."

"Does it always have to be me?" retorted Harry.

Inwardly, though, the gears in his mind were working fiercely. Last time his own potion had exploded when he held the wand that was meant to be stirring the potion, and this time he had touched Malfoy's cauldron.  
He had a bad feeling that he was the person setting it off.

"Exactly," said Professor Snape, smoothly. "Potter's magic is activating it. He has no way of controlling it. He exploded his own potion last time, you remember, Mr Malfoy?"

Malfoy huffed.

"But the true mystery here is," said Snape, "why Potter's magic sparks off the potion. This is the very first time it's happened in my class."

Harry suddenly found himself under the scrutiny of Snape's probing eyes. There was a very interested gleam in the Potion Master's eyes that he found himself uncomfortable with.

"You'll come to my office after dinner, Potter," Snape stated, with a curl of the lip.

_What a nightmare_.

* * *

Harry was walking down an empty corridor towards Snape's office when a pair of strong hands wrapped themselves forcefully around his mouth. Harry gagged as he was dragged roughly into another corridor.

In panic, Harry scanned the corridor. No Professors or students in sight. It seemed, unfortunately, this time that he really was in trouble.

Gathering his strength, Harry lashed out with his legs at his kidnapper.  
He was satisfied to hear a cry of pain emit from his kidnapper's mouth.

Harry grunted, continuing to struggle to free himself when, surprisingly, the hands constraining him let go. Harry wheezed in shock when he looked into the face of his attacker.

Neville Longbottom.

"Neville!" Harry gasped. "What were you doing with me?"

Neville, seeming very apologetic, looked down sheepishly at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Harry. I just wanted to show you something."

"You didn't have to bundle me up like a prisoner!" Harry complained.

"I know! I'm sorry!"

Hearing Neville's rueful voice somehow calmed Harry down a little.

"You scared me half to death."

"I'm so terribly sorry!" apologised Neville again.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" said Harry. "I was on my way to Professor Snape's office. He… he wanted me for something… I don't know what."

"There _is_ something I want to show you… if you have time, that is…" said Neville hesitantly.

Harry shrugged. "Professor Snape will probably skin me alive if I'm late for our meeting, but I don't see how a few minutes can hurt."

"Oh, thank you, Harry!" Neville beamed brightly.

"Where is it?"

"Not far from here," said Neville quickly, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Follow me!"

Harry managed to keep up Neville with a bit of effort as he ran up two flights of stairs and through another corridor.

Harry made a mental note never to conclude something from somebody's body build again. Despite Neville's rather chubby build, he was extraordinarily fast.

Puffing, Harry was half relieved and half sceptical when they finally stopped outside a broom cupboard.  
Relieved because they finally stopped and sceptical because…

"_This_?" asked Harry incredulously. "You wanted to show me a broom cupboard?"

Harry gestured helplessly at the little wooden door. "A broom cupboard…"

"Not quite," said Neville cheerfully.

"What do you mean?

"It's called the Room of Requirement," provided Neville. He scrunched up his face in an expression of concentration.

"What are you doing?"  
Harry was starting to feel a little cynical.

After a moment, during which nothing happened, Neville looked at Harry again. "Open the door, Harry. You'll be surprised."

It turned out Harry was indeed surprised, pleasantly so.  
The room itself was more like a spacious hall. The ceiling was very high up, and there were piles of mats on the floor, as well as numerous book shelves lined against the walls.  
There were wooden dummies, which Harry, for the life of him, couldn't figure out what was for.

As he and Neville stepped through the door, a bunched-up group of thirty or so students huddled together, gawking at him and Neville with looks of amazement.

The students had, apparently, been talking… but it was painfully obvious, with the ringing silence and the gawping, that they had not been expecting Harry and Neville.

Harry hoped they weren't crashing a party of some sort.

Soon enough, the looks of amazement turned to confusion, fright and even anger.

"Why did you bring him, Neville?" asked a girl, her voice abnormally high… perhaps from fear… Harry didn't know.

"Yeah. Neville, you're a dimwit. He's gonna tattle to Snape," said another boy, looking fierce. "He's a Slytherin! Why did ya bring him?!"

Harry was feeling worse by the minute as the looks of accusation were directed on to him. It seemed that_ he_ was the one they had not been expecting.

"Oh my god, Neville Longbottom! Are you mad?"

"And _you_ were the one who told us never to reveal anyone our secret!"

Soon, they were swarmed by heated voices and objections. They were cornered by the students as Neville raised both his hands to say something. "Look, I assure you –"

His voice was quickly overwhelmed by the other louder ones.  
Harry shrank back.

It took quite a lot of Neville's effort to calm the students down enough so that they'd back off a little. But he managed, nonetheless; something Harry didn't think was possible.

"Look here, I _know_ you're all concerned about our secrecy being risked. I _know_ I'm taking a risk here by introducing him to our group without earlier precautions. I _know_ you think it is irresponsible of me to do such a thing. Therefore, I alone will be answerable to all consequences," said Neville.

Apart from a few murmurs, it seemed the students had all calmed down enough to listen.  
It was also that moment that Harry realised how valiant Neville actually was. A few words of persuasion from him could calm an angry horde.

"Without further ado, I'd like to introduce you to Harry Potter, a first year student. Yes, he_ is_ a Slytherin… a fact that distresses all of you. But since he has shown no signs of menace towards any of us, I say we shouldn't put that against him without consideration. We are not so prejudiced as to dub all Slytherins with the title of evil."

Neville looked like the symbol of leadership, standing there with his face confident.  
Harry was truly amazed. How could anyone who was so shy have another side like this?

"You all know just as well as I do that we need new members…more members. Harry has potential, and if he wants to join, why should we not include him. If he actually becomes one of us, he will be the first Slytherin. And while that may put us at more risk, it can also be worked to our advantage. Besides, we'll have to have Slytherin members in the future. This is a good time as any to start."

Harry turned his confusion towards Neville.  
"Include me in what?" he asked.

"An organisation of sorts," said Neville.  
He turned back to address the other students. "I admit I haven't conversed with him all that much, but he seems like a good guy." Neville smiled lopsidedly at Harry. "I think we should give him a chance. Besides…"

Harry watched numbly as Neville left his side and walked towards the children. Neville and the others huddled together in a circle for a moment as Neville whispered something quietly to them before coming back to stand beside Harry.

"Here. Why don't we all have a drink first before we proceed onto anything else? Eleanor, if you please?" suggested Neville.

A seventh year girl took out her wand, conjured a number of ice teas and handed them out to everyone. Harry himself received a cup.

He took a small sip.  
It was wonderful. The refreshing coldness somehow made him more alert.

"Harry…"

Neville had downed his cup and was looking at Harry directly in the eye.  
"There's this organisation we want you to consider joining. And since we'd be delighted if you participate, it is probably not a good idea to tell you straight off that our organisation isn't exactly permitted by the school and that it's not even legal. However, these are things you need to know. It wouldn't be fair if we withheld it from you."

Harry nodded briefly, signalling he was all ears.

"The Headmistress and the Professors do not, and _cannot_, know such an organisation as ours exists. Only we can know. You see, the main purpose of our so-called organisation is to disarm the currant way the school is _ruled_. And the school _is _being ruled – by Carrow who listens to every instruction that passes through Voldemort's lips."

Harry blinked at Neville's blatant use of Voldemort's title. Everyone else he'd met either referred to Voldemort as 'Lord Voldemort' or 'the Dark Lord'.

He was also put slightly off guard by the quiet contempt and the steel determination with which Neville said his lines.

Neville let out a sigh. "I'm going to be absolutely blunt here. You've seen a lot of the things yourself. You've seen the way Carrow tortures students, you've seen the way Voldemort has all the control here, you've seen how he threatened Professor McGonagall at the Sorting, you've seen the way muggleborn students are disgraced by their heritance. You can't just hope all these things will just eventually go away as the school year goes on. Believe me; you haven't seen half the things that go on around here. It's not going to get better, it's only going to get worse…this is just the very beginning."

Harry himself was captivated by Neville's speech. It was true and sincere and factual in every sense of the words. It _wasn't _going to get better – it was _only_ going to get worse.  
He felt himself being won over… despite that he knew he had only heard half of what Neville was going to say.

"Now you get to decide whether you're going to accept the way things are run here. The group we've formed is comprised of students who want to fight to regain what we've had before Voldemort won. That's why we named ourselves DA; standing for Dumbledore's Army. I'm the unofficial organiser, but everybody has an important part."

Harry blinked. No wonder Neville had demonstrated so much leadership. He _was_ the leader of Dumbledore's Army.

"If you join, you cannot speak of this to anyone but the people who are in this already. You must not talk about this with any of us in public. You must not let the Slytherins know. You must not let the Professors know. If you do, we're all going to be in trouble. _Dead_ trouble – and perhaps in every sense of the word. Anyway, we're all very frank here. We call Voldemort by his name; we have no tolerance for his deatheaters. We're in many ways like a miniature army, ready to fight for Hogwarts whenever it's needed."

"You can't fight the deatheaters though. You'd get your covers blown," said Harry. "What _do_ you do?"

"We resist indirectly. Sometimes by refusing outright to learn a Dark spell, but mostly by helping students who are suffering from Carrow's hand. Doing whatever we can, basically," answered Neville. "Just this week, we managed to sneak into one of Carrow's secret chambers, and we released a fourth year student she had chained to the wall."

"Tell him about our night missions," said a boy from the crowd.

Neville grinned at Harry. "The most exciting of all the things we do, though, is probably what we occasionally do by night. Sometimes, we sneak into the Dark Arts classroom and trash it, and other times we graffiti stuff on the walls; things like 'Deatheaters can die' and 'Carrow eats dung.' Along with some other bits and pieces that we do. It's not much, but every little bit counts. So what do you think?"

Harry smiled. "I'm glad at least some people are doing something about it. Voldemort needs to be reined in."

"Well," said Neville, "currently, there's no way we can control Voldemort…but you never know what'll happen in the future."

"It's dangerous though, isn't it?" said Harry.

"Very," agreed Neville. "You should back out now if you can't handle it. There was once a third year student who was caught in the middle of wreaking Carrow's property. Carrow had him flogged and then thrown out of Hogwarts. No one knows what happened to him after that."

"I don't care," said Harry, stubbornly. "I've seen Voldemort murder someone with my own eyes, and Carrow forced me to torture my friend. Since we're all under their control, I don't see why we should be afraid of facing a little more danger. I want to join."

Harry felt a sudden rush of exhilaration, as if he was finally doing something worthy. After everything Voldemort had done to him and to the people around him, he'd be a fool not to do something about it.

Here was an organisation that not only allowed him the chance to do something, but also allowed him to communicate with students with exactly the same purpose as him.

"I'll join," he decided.

"That's the spirit!" Neville cheered.

"Obviously, I don't mind joining, but why would you guys not mind?" asked Harry. "I mean, how can you trust me?"

"Veritaserum," said Neville matter-of-factly. "It's a truth potion – forces the drinker to speak nothing but the very truth. Your tea was spiked with it. Sorry, Harry, but it was a precaution."

"What would you have done if I said 'no' to you?"

"Erased your memory," replied Neville simply. "Eleanor can do it. She's very advanced at magic."

Despite a little tinge of annoyance at the back of his head, Harry supposed he could accept it. He supposed he would have done the same if he was in Neville's position.

"Whatever it is, I'm just happy I'm in."

"So am I, I assure you." Neville laughed brightly.

"So…when do we get to do something?"

* * *

**Please Review. I am currently attempting to will the number of reviews to go up - obviously in vain.**


	12. A Potion Master's Attention

**I'm sorry about sounding so demanding about the last time. I also want to thank Hana-Liatris yet again for her review, as well as Unknownmusic who has humored me through the number of reviews she increased.**

**There's quite a bit of excitement in this chapter, or at least in my opinion. As always, I'm keen to hear your thoughts on this chapter - so please review!**

* * *

_"So…when do we get to do something?"_

* * *

"Tonight," said Neville.

"What?" Harry gaped. "_Tonight?_"

"Lestrange, Voldemort's top dog, has a couple of students chained in one of the locked chambers in the dungeon. They will face the Cruciatus tomorrow, by Lestrange's own hand. However, if we go there after midnight and free them, they will be able avoid torture."

"Bellatrix…you don't think she'll come after them again?" said Harry, shocked.

"She wouldn't be bothered. Sometimes Bellatrix punishes students just for the sake of it. If it isn't some real serious transgression, she wouldn't pursue them," said Neville.

"And if _we_ get caught?" asked Harry doubtfully.

Neville looked at him swiftly. "I guess this is your self-preservation kicking in. I don't blame you though," he added. "Most likely, we won't get caught. If one of us does, the rest of us will do the best we can for them."

"Surely not all of us coming?"

"No, I think this is fit for just you and me," said Neville. "It's the most perfect first experience you're ever going to get."

"Okay…" Harry murmured reluctantly. "I'll meet you…when?"

"Sneak out of your dormitory at twelve and we'll meet outside the Room of Requirement," said Neville. "Try not to be late."

"Alright."

"And didn't you say Professor Snape was expecting you?"

Harry glanced at Neville and did a quick maths inside his head. "Oh, darn it! Snape's going to skin me alive! I need to go!"

* * *

Harry opened the door cautiously.

"Mr Potter…" said Snape dangerously. "You _do_ realise you are nearly twenty minutes late?"

"Yes."

"You _do_ realise I have better things to do than sit here waiting for you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"What _were_ you doing?" Snape asked, his voice soft as velvet.

Harry pursed his lips. "Practising."

"Practising what?" asked Professor Snape, his lip curling.

Harry felt cold all over. It was like Snape could sniff out a liar from a kilometre away.

"Practising wand-work."

"Really?" Snape drawled. "Show me."

Harry racked his head for a spell. He couldn't remember anything.

"I haven't perfected it, sir," muttered Harry.

"All the same." Snape sneered alarmingly. "Show me, Potter."

Suddenly, like a dawning saviour, he remembered the spell Hermione had taught him on the train. What was the incantation again?

Harry took out his wand and, avoiding Snape's intense gaze, muttered, "_Auguani_."

To his dread, nothing happened.

Snape's sneer widened until it looked like the corners of his mouth would split. "I think the incantation you want, Mr Potter, is _aguamenti_. It produces water."

Harry cursed himself silently. "Sorry, sir, I'm just tired."

"Get on with it."

"_Aguamenti_!" Harry said clearly.

His words rang true and a circle of lighted emitted from the tip of his wand. A stream of water sprayed the back of Snape's chair with such force that the chair flew across the room until it hit the opposite wall.

The smirk slipped from Snape's face, and he looked positively stunned.

Harry felt a sense of triumph as he revelled in the lingering power of the spell.

"How long did you practise it, Potter?"

"Half an hour."

Harry crossed his fingers, hoping the answer was close to what Snape expected.

"And that was the only spell you were practising, Potter?"

"Umm…" Harry hesitated, wondering what the right reply was, "…uh…no…"  
His answer came out sounding like a question.

"Show me what else you've done."

Harry stiffened. The only other spells he knew how to do were the Cruciatus Curse and the rum spell Professor Flitwick had taught them. But the rum spell was so simple that Snape was bound to know he was lying if he said he had been revising it.

He had two options. He could either show Snape the Cruciatus and maintain his lie, or he could risk revealing Dumbledore's Army.

In short, he had no choice.

"I…" Harry's voice trembled slightly. "I need an animal."

"So be it."

Snape swiftly transfigured one of his quills into a spider, before gesturing at Harry to continue.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. And then he cast the spell.

"_Crucio!_"

Somehow, it was a lot easier this time. Perhaps it was because it was an animal he was casting it on that he felt less guilt – or perhaps it was because he had already successfully cast it once.

Whatever it was, when the overwhelmingly exotic tastes exploded on his tongue, when the sheer power of the spell vibrated soothingly up and down his arm, Harry succumbed to the curse.

He maintained it with little effort until Snape called for him to stop.

Harry halted the curse keenly, immediately after Snape's command. He was appalled. His own capability of using the spell scared him.

"I see you've spent a lot of time finalising it," said Snape quietly.

"I have."

"Very well, take a seat, Potter."

Harry did as the Professor asked. He felt slightly drained now.

"Despite your rather late entrance, I suppose you know why I called this meeting?"

"To tell me why my magic triggered Malfoy's potion," Harry answered tiredly.

"Exactly. And I have come to a conclusion."

Harry leaned forward a little. He had to admit he was curious.

"It was a leftover bit of your childhood magic. Childhood magic can be powerful at times. It's supposed to have been depleted when you reached your current age and received your wand. I am almost certain that it shall go away in a few months. You needn't worry about it. You may also find that is why you excel so easily at your subjects."

Snape stared pointedly at him. "That is also probably why you're so excellent at spells, even when it's your first or second try."

Harry became rigid. It seemed Snape knew he was lying. But it wasn't like the Professor had the evidence to prove it.

"You're dismissed," said Snape.

Harry left eagerly.

* * *

It was cold, although Harry was in full clothing. His wand rested firmly in his hand, acting as a sort of comfort.

A dark figure walked towards him, closer and closer. Harry couldn't help stiffening even though he knew who it was.

"Neville," he greeted.

"Hello, Harry."

"How long will this take?" Harry asked.

"Roughly ten minutes, if all goes well."

Harry nodded, feeling ridiculous; it wasn't as if Neville could see him. "What's the plan?"

"Find them, free them, secure them, and try not to be captured ourselves," said Neville. "I know where the dungeon cells are, but we'll have to search for them. They can be in any one of the cells."

"Then…what are we waiting for?"

* * *

Harry grimaced for the eleventh time as a step under his foot let out a long creak. With each step they were closer to the dungeon cells.

For reasons unknown to Harry, he just couldn't shake off the worry that Bellatrix was waiting for them in the cells.  
Waiting for them to fall into her trap.

All around them were damp walls – consequences of the under-lake environment. The very air was rusty and moist and cold.

Long, clawed shadows danced across the walls, in the light of Neville's _lumos_ spell.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled as they approached the iron doors that separated the dungeon cells from the rest of the dungeons. Looming sinisterly over them, the doors didn't look like they would budge.

"_Alohomora_," Neville breathed.

The durable looking locks snapped open with a shatter, and the doors swung open, towards them.

Neville stepped inside, and Harry followed him, treading carefully. He fully expected an alarm to go off.  
However…there was nothing.

The first cell was empty of all signs of a student. As Harry went past, he couldn't help but note the dangling chains attached to the ceiling.  
He could only imagine what horrors went on inside. Carrow or Bellatrix would probably dangle the student upside down by his or her ankles.

The air had gotten reasonably colder. Harry wasn't sure if it was just him – or if the iron doors separated some kind of air flow.

"Hurry up, Harry," Neville whispered into his ear.

They padded cautiously onwards.

The second cell was also empty. This time they had to actually go inside the cell to see whether anyone was imprisoned there, because it was so dark.

Neville waved his lit wand around the room, and the walls were thrown into relief. Harry jerked involuntarily when it became obvious that what they had previously thought was peeling plaster was, in fact, dried blood.

Harry saw Neville bending and picking up from the ground what looked like, in the faint light of the wand, a sleek, black whip.

Neville tossed it away into a corner and gestured for them to step out of the cell and continue. "Now you see why we have to rescue them," he said, voice shaking slightly with disgust.

Harry nodded dazedly. He knew now, how little he had seen of the things that went on around the school.

The third and fourth cells too were unoccupied.

As they approached the fifth cell, a whimper ran through the air, the sound magnified by the echoes.

Harry's muscles immediately tensed, ready to bolt, and his eyes scanned frantically for the source of the sound.

"_Shh_," Neville reminded him again, before hurrying forward.

Harry watched the fifth year Gryffindor press his face against the iron bars of the fifth cell and peek inside.

A moment later, Neville was gesturing excitedly as Harry for him to come over.

They had found what they came for, just when Harry was beginning to think their efforts were futile.

Harry smiled to himself as Neville set to work. The doors were obviously more secure this time, with numerous spells cast on, but Neville was steadily destroying the wards, one by one.

Soon enough, the door swung ajar and three unharmed third year students stepped out, faces thankful. The gratitude shone in their expressions and Harry found himself feeling incredibly glad they did manage to free them.

It was an amazing feeling to realise he had finally accomplished something against Voldemort. It wasn't much, Harry knew. But it was better than nothing.

Harry traded glances with Neville as they led the students back. They then went separate ways.

Harry gladly snuck back into his own dorm, relieved none of the Slytherins had woken during his absence.

First mission accomplished.

* * *

Professor Snape, with an expressionless mask set firmly on his face, gazed out the astronomy tower at the night sky.

It was beautiful, with the silver globe of a moon hanging in the middle of a group of stars. This was a night made for people of many passions. Severus Snape, however, had no time for these things.

He paced with long strides across the tower, his black boots clicking. A gust of wind blew in, and his black robes billowed out like flapping wings behind him.

Severus Snape glanced out the window again. It was very late – far past midnight. He knew that if any students saw him up _here_, of all places, suspicion would arouse.

The astronomy tower was a common place for foolish meetings between infantile, love-struck students. And with the amount of thick heads dwelling here, at Hogwarts, these days, the first conclusion they'd jump to would be that he was waiting for his sweetheart.

Rumours spread like wildfire nowadays. And despite the Headmistress' undoubtedly firm control, Snape was certain even she would not be able to stop these tales.

This was why, he hoped no one would catch him here but for the person he had arranged the meeting with.

Ten minutes later, Severus Snape muttered a curse underneath his breath. _Voldemort's top lieutenant indeed_. _She couldn't even read the time properly_.

His hand clenched tighter on his wand. True, Bellatrix had sat through Azkaban for Voldemort. But did she think that meant she could be excused for all her lateness?  
Snape seethed.

It was a win-win situation for him, though. Top lieutenant or not, there was no way the Dark Lord would pardon her once he realised she had been the one to slow the mission.

"Severus."

A voice came out of the darkness.

"Her Ladyship has finally arrived," Snape remarked, mockingly.

"Don't be bitter, Severus," chided Bellatrix, as she stepped into the moonlight.

It made her seem all the more evil – from her wild hair down to her smooth black cloak. Not that Snape cared, particularly.

"I may forgive you, Bella for your lateness. But do you really think the Dark Lord is known for his pardoning nature?"

As Bellatrix's self-assured smile immediately slipped off her face, Snape felt a sense of vicious satisfaction.

"What do you mean?" asked Bellatrix. "How is the Dark Lord involved in any way?"

Snape sneered. "Did you really think I arranged this meeting in the middle of the night just to tell you about a little rascal exploding potions? Work your head –"

"Of course," Bellatrix interrupted. "As the Deputy Headmistress, it is my job to punish wrongdoers."

"Oh?" Snape's voice dropped to a menacing level. "And what makes you think I do not have the authority in the school to deal with this…_wrongdoer_…myself?"

Bellatrix fell silent as Snape continued again. "No, the reason I've arranged this is because I believe we have found someone that may please the Dark Lord."

The stunned look on Lestrange's face amused Snape immensely. "Do you mean…" she said slowly, as if in a daze, "that you've found a student that _could_ be a possible candidate for the Dark Lord's mentorship?"

Professor Snape nodded, grimly. "I believe so."

"What is his name?"

"Harry…"

Bellatrix frowned slightly. "I do not recall any upper years with that particular first name."

"You wouldn't," Snape answered. "Because he is only a first year."

Snape suddenly found himself pinned down by Bellatrix's cold glare. "You've played me. The Dark Lord himself has personally requested a seventh year. I cannot believe you had the nerve to suggest one of the newbie rats."

"The Dark Lord said a seventh year _would be best_. He did not set an age limit," Snape hissed. "I personally wouldn't want to be punished for not providing the Dark Lord with a potential candidate for his apprenticeship. Besides, I believe when he sees this child, he would make the appropriate decision himself."

Bellatrix subsided slightly. "Fine. What is his name?"

"Harry… Harry Potter."

This time, the Deputy Headmistress looked angry enough to lunge for him. Her eyes sparkled with unsuppressed fury. "Are you _mad_? You cannot possibly be suggesting that traitor's, Potter's, son! The Dark Lord would have your head chopped off, for lack of better words."

"Believe what you want, Bellatrix, but the Dark Lord does not loathe James Potter as much as you," said Snape."

"You know as well as I do how much he hates traitors!"

"Ah, but the Dark Lord never did see Potter as a traitor. Potter, though once a deatheater, had never been deatheater material. He never gave up his soul and morals for the Dark Lord's cause. In that sense, he was never _completely_ on our side."

"All right. Then let me ask you a question, how is Harry Potter's magic superior in any way to his peers'?"

"Apart from performing an _aguamenti_ spell that holds the power of throwing a chair across my office within a few seconds of knowing the incantation? Apart from already having perfected a Cruciatus Curse within the first two weeks of school? Apart from having the raw magic as to trigger a potion to explode?"

"Are you _quite_ sure that he –?"

"You shouldn't doubt me, Bellatrix. We're not talking about the average student here. He has raw magical talent. If there's anyone that can harness that power to reach its greatest potential, it's the Dark Lord."

"What's so special about Potter's child? Does he have some sort of magic that we don't know about? How can he excel his peers so distinctively?"

"That depends what you mean by 'special'. I am quite certain he does not have any unique talents. I suspect his magical core is just naturally more powerful than the general public. The Dark Lord wants a powerful protégé, not a child with mutant powers that we have no chance of finding. Although, I told Potter a cock-and-bull story about his childhood magic not yet been depleted. I thought it would be better if he wasn't aware of his core magic."

"So you think we should just tell the Dark Lord about the potential of Potter's child?"

Snape scoffed scornfully. "Of course not. I'm not saying Harry Potter is the best choice, I'm just saying the Dark Lord may be interested in him because of his flairs – for all we know, there may be a more powerful student somewhere. Besides, I wouldn't want to give the Dark Lord students he may deem worthless. It may result in unwanted consequences for us."

"_Oh? _Then what do _you_ propose?" Bellatrix said sarcastically.

"I say we give the Dark Lord a chance to select his candidates himself."

"_Meaning_?"

"We arrange a series of duelling competitions later in the year and we make sure Potter and the other potential students are in it. We also have to make sure the Dark Lord is watching. Meanwhile, we prepare Potter so that he is conscious of the variety of spells at his disposal. It'll also give me a better idea of exactly how much raw power he has."

Snape turned on his heel and left, leaving the Deputy Headmistress by herself. The last thing he saw before he left the tower was the musing expression on Bellatrix's face.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**I wonder what will happen next? Sorry about the evil cliffhanger... but I do so love them. And I'll try to upload the next chapter fast.**


	13. Fallen For Deceit

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**I want to thank Hanna-Liatris again for her review, and due to the requests of KK, I've decided to try and upload faster in the holidays.**

**Anyways, please review. Here's your chapter. By the way, I'll be ever so grateful if those of you who haven't reviewed my last chapter would review that too.**

* * *

"That's it…bring up your shield when you see it coming… _side step!_"

With a sort of grace in his step, the raven haired boy deftly brought up a shimmering silver shield, effectively blocking the incoming spell, while neatly side-stepping the other curse.

Having evaded both spells, the boy grinned cheerfully and let his shield fade into nothingness.

"You're _not _done yet, Potter! Keep your wits about!"

A bombardment of fierce spells was sent flying towards Harry, and Harry knew instantly he wouldn't be able to prepare a sufficient shield quickly enough.

Instead, he dropped to his stomach on the ground, narrowly avoiding the lowest of the spells by a mere few centimetres.

The sender of the spells let out a small scoff as Harry clambered back on his feet.

"Potter, you'll be the death of me one day. You certainly deserve praises for your swift decision making and reflexes, but…" Snape sighed irritably. "Potter, do tell me what today's session is about."

Harry's grin drifted slowly off his face as he stared at the Slytherin Head. "I'm supposed to be learning how to conjure different shields."

"Exactly," Snape snapped. "You already know how to dodge and duck. It's somewhere in your natural instinct. What you _do _need to focus on is your shield!"

"Sorry sir," said Harry meekly.

"Potter, do remind me again why I'm wasting my time teaching you extra things that are not a part of my responsibility."

Harry blinked. "Umm…uh… It's because you want to?"

"When you put it like that, you make me sound like some dim witted idiot," muttered Snape. "I feel responsible for you – as I do for _all_ my house members. I educate _all_ my students in subjects they're lacking. For God's Sake, Draco is a much better pupil than you."

"But Professor," Harry protested. "I'm not behind in the things you teach me; I'm ahead actually. Professor Flitwick isn't planning on teaching us shields for another half year at least. And the other spells… most of them my classmates haven't even heard of."

"Then what are you suggesting, Potter?" Snape asked, voice lowered dangerously.

"Look, Professor, you may teach me all you like – obviously for your own reasons, maybe because of your pride or whatever – and I actually enjoy the lessons, but please, you're leaving me no time for flying or Quidditch!"

"I'm teaching you because I'm proud of you, is that what you're saying?" Professor Snape questioned. "And quit complaining – your flying games are not _half as important _as what I'm teaching you."

"I'm not saying you're proud of me. My point is that I know you're not treating the other Slytherins half as harshly as you're treating me, but I don't know the reason."

"Is that what you call my lessons; harsh treatments? I assure you, Potter, that many students would love to be in your position."

"Sorry, Professor. I didn't know." Harry smiled innocently.

"Watch it, Potter, before your cheek gets you into unwarranted trouble," said Snape. "In matters of all seriousness, though, you're proceeding too slowly. Recall what you have learned so far, in the six months I have been tutoring you."

"Basic charms like _accio _and _silencio_, offensive curses, shields, basic footwork…and that's it," said Harry. "But, it _felt_ like I've learned much more than that. The large areas I've accomplished are covered in just one word."

Snape exhaled heavily, exasperatedly. "I just want you to know that there's a formal duelling competition next week. It's highly important. Only a selected number of students from the whole school are actually competing. Luckily you are one of them. Prepare what you need to. And don't forget to practise the seven different shields I've taught you this week during the weekend."

"Yes, Professor," said Harry dutifully. "Have a nice weekend."

"Wait, don't go yet. I cannot express to you exactly how important this competition is. If you win, and I do believe you stand a chance of being one of the finalists, you will be rewarded with more than you can possibly imagine. It'll also be a chance for you to prove yourself in front of your classmates, and housemates. I have trained you well, but you will need all your strength to even consider winning. You'll be up against students with six more years of experience than yourself."

"You're joking right?" Harry blurted. "About the competition, I mean."

"Potter, you know me. I don't joke."

"There's no way I'll even make it through the first round if I get paired up with someone from a higher year."

"Have a little confidence in yourself. I've always seen you as an optimist," said Snape, with a smirk.

"I'm a realist, Professor. I'd humiliate myself in front of the whole school. Who else is competing that's a first year?"

"Draco Malfoy will be. So will three others."

This time, Harry gave a small smile. "Even if I cannot win, I know I can beat Malfoy."

"Believe what you wish, Potter. Just remember to prepare yourself. Come to me on Monday night – we'll go through the things you need to know for the competition on Wednesday."

"Can I not compete?" Harry tried.

"_No!_"

"Okay then, I'll prepare myself."

"Just go, Potter."

Snape watched as the door slammed shut. If it was even possible, the boy's cheek towards him had become more pronounced as he adapted to Snape's sarcastic personality.

During the last six months he had kept a tight eye on Potter's progress. Not just academically, but also his social status in Slytherin and other parts of his daily life.

The boy was doing okay, he supposed, _with_ a little help from him. Professor Snape had gathered all the first year Slytherins after the week he had met with Bellatrix in the astronomy tower, and in cunningly chosen words, told them to act civil towards Potter.

Being Slytherin's widely respected House Head, it worked. Just as well as he had expected.

Although Potter still had occasional flair-ups, the Slytherins were reasonably civilised, most of the time. Or at least as much as they could be.

While he had taken Potter under his wing, in an attempt to tutor the boy – which often resulted in his own exhaustion – Bellatrix had also chosen to coach a student she had deemed 'worthy' of the Dark Lord's attention.

The girl, jealously guarded by Bellatrix, was a fifth year Slytherin, who was, very likely, the smartest and most powerful witch of her year.

The girl's name was Daphne Greengrass, older sister to first year Slytherin, Astoria Greengrass.

Snape had never been in particularly close contact with the girl. But from what he had seen of her in Potion classes, she was competent, to say the least.

Meanwhile, the Dark Lord was becoming increasingly impatient for him and Bellatrix to find him the right students. Lord Voldemort had even taken to pressuring him, with promised threats, every week.

He and Bellatrix had tried to assure the Dark Lord that they were making progress, but it was clear he didn't believe them. In fact, Lord Voldemort had actually tried to pick out students himself – but soon gave up due to the difficulty of seeing who had potential just by staring at them in corridors or the great hall.

Severus Snape gave a tired sigh.

Potter was unpredictable, but he did have a fire inside him and an unquenchable thirst to prove himself. Hopefully, if Snape's calculation was right, that would motivate Potter to try his best.

Snape silently cursed himself. He couldn't believe he was placing the importance of Lord Voldemort's request on such a young child. If that child failed him now… Snape could only hope Bellatrix's Daphne Greengrass would please the Dark Lord.

* * *

"Oh, Harry, congratulations! I'm so happy for you – you _have_ to take up this opportunity," Hermione shrieked excitedly. "Who could have guessed Professor Snape could be so nice to you?"

Harry blinked. The day Snape could be described using the word 'nice' was the day he ate the Sorting Hat. "Thanks, Hermione."  
He set down his dinnerware nervously as Hermione smothered him.

Taken slightly aback by the down-cast tone, Hermione leaned back to inspect Harry's face. "What's wrong? This is your chance, Harry. You can use this to impress the Professors, show the Slytherins what's what, and get good grades… I'd give anything to be you."

"If I don't get wiped out by Malfoy in the first round and embarrass myself in front of the whole school," Harry muttered.

Hermione gave Harry a long stare and set her own plate down on the table. "Look, no one expects you to win. Do you know how much you've accomplished just by getting in?"

"Yes, but –"

"Do you really think Professor Snape would let you embarrass yourself when he's the one who taught you? I know for a fact he is very fond of maintaining his pride and dignity."

"I know I'm not expected to win, but my point is that I'll be one of the worst."

"It doesn't matter if you lose in the first round, it really doesn't. What if you got paired up with someone who's not a first year? They'd have years more experience than you."

"Look, I just don't want to _lose_!" Harry snapped.

"You can't possibly humiliate yourself when nobody expects anything from you," Hermione said logically.

Harry gave a strained smile. "Is that supposed to be a comfort or an insult? Besides, Snape just about told me in subtle words he'd skin me alive if I don't make it to the finals," he said.

"Don't worry about him."

"I'm not just scare of embarrassing myself, I –"

"Yes?" Hermione asked jokingly, raising her eyebrows. "What else are you terrified of?"

Harry had to grin slightly. "I _want _to win. I know I can't, but I want to. I want to prove to them I'm not just some worthless rag left out in the sun to dry."

"Well then, Harry, that means you'd have to do your best, won't you?" Hermione beamed. "Do your best, Harry, and I'll be amazed if anyone can stand in your way."

Hermione's words had worked their magic. He could just _feel_ the burden lift from his shoulders.

"I promise _I'll_ skin you alive if you're beaten by Malfoy."

"I won't be."

Harry looked determinedly at Hermione. "I may not win, but I will make myself a worthy opponent."

Hermione smiled at him in relief. "That's the spirit. I'll be vouching for you."

"Malfoy's going down."

* * *

"_Alligaveritis!_"

Smoky black ropes wove their way out of Snape's wand and dove towards Harry, each coming at a different direction, making sure he couldn't dodge them.

Harry brought his own wand down with a swish. "_Protego_!"

The ropes clashed against his shield, producing a terrible sound of splitting glass. Instead of fading away into nothingness, the ropes whipped across the surface of the shield again and again.

It was like no spell he had ever seen before. Harry gritted his teeth and strengthened his shield, only to have the ropes lash across it yet again.

While Harry busied himself with the shield, he saw Snape muttering another curse out of the corner of his eye.

"_Sectumsempra._"

Harry saw Snape's wand waving odd patterns in the air before finally jabbing towards him. A moment later, two things happened simultaneously.

The first thing was that gashes cut into Harry's wrist.

The second thing was that Harry's lost concentration resulted in his shield being shattered, and the ropes zoomed towards him before finally wrapping him in a painfully tight grasp.

Suddenly, Harry was dangling in an undignified manner in the arr.

"Let me go," he managed through clenched teeth.

The ropes dumped him unceremoniously back on the ground.

Harry stared at the bloody slashes on his wrist, wincing. The cuts formed two crimson coloured words: _Work Harder_.

Not amused by his pain, Harry looked up and bared his teeth. "I'm working my hardest already!"

"No, Potter, you're not. Stand up and try again."

Harry stood, with a look of defiance, ignoring the throbbing of his wrist; not willing to show any weakness in front of Snape.

"Your shields are still pathetically feeble. You need to be able to fortify them without them taking up so much of your concentration.

Harry made a sound resembling a snort, appearing indifferent as Snape shot an icy glare his way. "I'm never going to meet your standards."

"Oh yes, you will."

Harry shrugged, in the aimless way that he knew irritated Snape.

"Brace yourself, Potter," said Snape maliciously. "Keep your shields up this time, or there'll be quite a few injuries like the one on your wrist coming your way.

"Will the words be 'you are a worthless idiot' this time?"

"Hmm…I think I'll take that into consideration," said Snape, smirking slightly.

Deep down, Harry knew the smartest thing to do was to cooperate with the Slytherin Head and prepare himself as much as possible – as the duelling competition was the very next day.  
But Harry couldn't seem to find the tolerance within himself to do such a thing.

He was still feeling sore – in every sense of the word – about what Snape had done to his wrist. Harry knew he was being childishly precious; it wasn't as if any true harm had been done to him.

Most likely, Snape had made a poor attempt at comedy; that tactic did match the Professor's cynical sense of humour perfectly.

But as silly and flimsy as Harry felt, the hex hovered too close to the thin line separating strictness and cruelty for his comfort.

It seemed to be something Carrow would do… although Harry had no doubts about whose intentions were better.

Perhaps the reason he was feeling slightly miffed right now was because he had grown to – for lack of a better word – trust the Potions Master during the past months. He had familiarised himself with Snape's sarcasm and even accepted it. In fact, Hermione was beginning to say it was rubbing off on him.

"Potter!" Snape's sharp, reprimanding voice sliced through Harry's thoughts.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I said get your shield ready."

Hesitating for only the smallest stretch of period, Harry said directly to Snape's face, "I really am no good with shields."

Snape fell eerily silent.

For a moment, Harry thought he was going to receive a harsh retort. But when Snape looked at Harry again, he nodded stiffly as if he was considering what Harry had said.

"Then we'll focus on spells for now," Snape said curtly.

Harry blinked, taken aback for the unusual compliance.

"I want you to learn the two spells I've just performed. The incantations are '_alligaveritis_' and '_sectumsempra_'. The guidelines are very simple – just pronounce the incantations correctly and focus all your willpower on the desired effect."

"Alright."

To Harry's relief, the spells were comparatively easier. By his eighth attempt, he executed the binding spell with speed and precision. Even with Snape breathing down his neck in an intimidating manner didn't put Harry off.

The Sectumsempra curse was more difficult. It demanded a lot of willpower.

"_Focus_, Potter!" Snape barked. "Your mind is wandering. You need complete concentration for this hex. And how would I know? I designed this curse myself."

Instantly, all efforts at concentration were brushed aside as Harry leapt up excitedly. "You created a spell?"

"Close your mouth, Potter. It'll catch flies."

Harry took it as a 'yes'. "How _do_ you invent a new spell? It's not like inventing machines, is it?"

Snape sighed in an annoyed way. "I shall tell you if you manage to learn it within ten minutes."

Harry knew it was a bribe, but he really was interested. So he gave it his best. Within five minutes, he got a satisfying result.

"_Sectumsempra!_"

He felt a gust of pure, undiluted magic whoosh from the very tips of his fingers right to his chest, which pumped his lifeblood. It was followed by an overpowering feeling of… something indescribable…something that generated a mixture of longing, awe, and resistance from him.

In many ways, the feeling was identical to the feeling when he performed the Cruciatus, but it was _altered_.

When Harry asked Snape to explain how to create new spells, Snape refused, saying, "Later, when you win tomorrow's competition."

After that they spent _another_ four hours preparing.

Near the end of the session, Professor Snape told Harry they would have one final duel.

Harry nodded half-heartedly, with sweat drops clinging onto his black fringe. He was beyond exhausted. Snape was a slave driver.

All he really wanted to do right now was get to the dormitory and sleep for a month.

"Focus, Potter," reminded Snape as he got into duelling stance with his wand held, ready to strike, above his head.

Harry took a deep, drained, puff of air and dipped his head – too spent to take the trouble even to nod.

"On the count of three; one, two…_three_!" Snape shouted.

A red-hot and burning ball of all-consuming flames burst out of the Professor's wand and headed straight for Harry.

A bit dazed by the bright light, Harry reacted stiffly but just in time. He conjured water which doused the flames with a few sizzling sounds just before it reached him.

Harry looked up again, to see Snape draw a deep, long line in the air. It was a non-verbal spell. And Harry thought he could guess what it was. He dove immediately for the ground. The Sectumsempra cut through a few strands of his hair and sliced a chair behind Harry right in half.

He frowned at Snape and raised a questioning eyebrow. What game was the Professor playing? If the curse had touched Harry, the wound could be fatal, if he didn't get chopped in half that was.

Professor Snape didn't even look like he was aware of Harry's near-demise. His face was hard and focused, throwing spell after spell at Harry.

"_Putro_. _Confringo! Diffindo! Incarcerous."_

They rained down on Harry, who wasn't expecting an attack of this vicious nature. "_Protego!_" The vehemence of the oncoming spells made Harry flinch. He half expected his shield to crumble when the spells met. It didn't. His shield held strong and swallowed every one of the offensive jinxes.

"_Incendio_. _Reducto_. _Levicorpus_."

"Professor!" Harry gasped. He quickly sidestepped two of the spells but the leg of his pants caught fire. "_Aguamenti!_ I can't catch up with you anymore. Professor, _stop_, _please!_"

Snape paid him no heed. "_Reducto!_"

"_Protego!_" His shield came out in a brilliantly bright and transparent blue. The mere sight of his should have taken his breath away, during normal circumstances.

Right now, however, Harry didn't even notice.

"_Ictus! Optundo_."

The two foreign sounding curses burst Harry's shield like a bubble. Quick a speed Harry never knew he had, he conjured another, more powerful one, halting the two spells centimetres from his face.

"Professor! Stop! I've had enough for one day. I don't want to do this anymore," Harry called.

Snape did not give him any signal that he had heard him.

"_Protego!_"

Harry took in a big gulp of air. For a number of times he couldn't even remember, he had used this spell again.

His head felt light as a massive force bashed at him. He thought he was flying backwards, but he was still standing firmly on solid ground.

Incredibly his shield had held, again.

Hatred and loathing dripped like poison from Snape's expression. "_Crucio!_" Snape shouted. "_Offensio!_"

Harry felt deathly cold as he heard the Cruciatus Curse being uttered.

This wasn't a simple duel. Snape was truly intending to hurt or maim him. As soon as the realisation occurred, Harry also realised if Snape wanted to kill him, he would not be able to defend himself.

Harry gave a bitter smile that seemed so detached, given the circumstances. What a poor, pathetic boy he was, unable to even protect himself.

There was a voice lingering at the back of his head, wondering whether Snape was truly intending to hurt him. Filled with disgust, Harry shoved that thought back.

He couldn't believe he was contemplating Snape's kind intentions while the wizard hurled spell after deadly spell at him.

Most of the lethal spells that came out of Snape's mouth, Harry had never even heard of.

And that brought up the question: how do you protect yourself against something you don't even know?

Harry reeled back as a fierce stinging hex hit him in the shoulder. Followed by a cutting hex slicing deep into his right hand.

Blood spurted everywhere.

Harry stumbled, before gaining his footing again – just quick enough to snap up another shield as a defence against another bulleting volley of curses.

"_Please! _Professor? _Professor!_ Stop…_stop_!"

Harry knew how desperate his pleads were. But the only reply from Snape was more deadly curses.

Snape's expression had twisted into something monstrous, something ugly and inhumane. Fear gripped at Harry's heart. His only chance was to drop his defensive stance and retaliate.

"_Avis Oppungo!_" Harry cried, seizing the first opportunity he came across.  
A flock of yellow canaries assaulted Snape.

One wave of his wand, however, vanished all of them.

It seemed Harry's resistance had brought even more of Snape's wrath on him.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The Killing Curse. Most deadly spell ever known to wizardry. Fortunately, it landed metres away from Harry.

This confirmed it. Snape wasn't seeking to torture Harry. He wanted to murder him. Harry knew that if he didn't do something soon, he would die by the man's hand.

"_Sectumsempra!_" Harry shouted.

The dark curse flew past Snape's defences and slit his black robes, narrowly missing his right arm.

Harry experienced the same irresistible feeling he felt before. This time, however, he hardly registered it. "_Confundo!_"  
He used Snape's temporary surprise to his advantage.  
It missed by a few centimetres.

Even Snape looked a bit taken aback by Harry's sudden recovery and retribution.

Without missing a beat, Harry aimed two spells at Snape. One five or six seconds after the other. The stinging hex, Snape sidestepped neatly, but the first only served as a distraction. The second one, aguamenti, hit Snape in the leg and knocked him back.

Harry took this chance to hurl another curse. "_Confringo!_"  
It missed by a long shot.

By now, Snape had recovered. He looked Harry straight in the eye and gave a dark sneer that Harry had never seen him use before.  
_His_ sneers were mocking while this one was…_insane_.

"Potter, you never expected something like this, did you?" Snape laughed. It was a horrible, low, lifeless sound that echoed again and again through Harry's mind. It was so unalike Snape. But then, what did he know about the Professor?  
"You're stupid, worthless, incapable of standing on your own two feet. If I take your life tonight, I do not see how the world would miss a scrawny dunderhead as yourself."

Harry's mind had entered a panicky state. He felt like he was inches away from blacking out. But each time he felt the whiteness coming to claim him, he'd fight it, struggle against it – just as he was struggling against Snape, the man he had trusted.

"_Crucio_. _Langlock!_"

To Harry's horror, the Cruciatus whirled towards him and struck him in the middle of his chest. He was thrown back, the force of the curse hurling his body like a leaf across the room.

The breath was knocked out of him and he crashed into the wall, but the agony he expected did not come.

The second spell, Langlock, however spun in a spiral towards him. In Harry's helpless state, he couldn't dodge.

As soon as the spell came in contact, Harry felt his tongue glued firmly to the roof of his mouth. "_Mmhh!_" he mumbled.

Suddenly, he understood its purpose. As long as he couldn't utter the incantation, he couldn't protect himself.

"Well, Potter, you did put up a rather good fight. Now, however, we have all the time in the world between us," said Snape. He placed the tip of his wand below Harry's chin and forced his head up. "I can cast the Cruciatus on you as many times as I want."

Harry let out a small yelp.

"I wonder if you'll beg for mercy."

Harry squirmed. Somehow, he could, just couldn't believe Snape was doing this, saying this. It seemed too much like something Voldemort would say.  
But since he was going to die anyway, he might as well ask.

"Are you actually Snape?"

The shocked expression on Snape's face was his old one; not like his sneer that changed so much.

"Need I really answer that, Mr Potter?"  
Snape's familiar wry smirk.

It disappeared as soon as it came. And the familiar Snape was instantly replaced by this new, hateful one.

"You know… I really shouldn't be surprised by your incompetence. Your swine of a father was the same."

Harry glared balefully at Snape.

"I can say anything I want. A dead body's not going to stop me."

Harry froze.

"Yes, I can kill you if I want."

Perhaps it was that sentence that triggered Harry's magic. Perhaps Harry's own helpless position was why his oblivious mind directed his magic upwards so that it could protect him in this perilous situation.

Whatever it was, in the period of a few seconds, Harry turned from the helpless victim to the wizard with the upper hand. He had never felt so much power at his disposal. It was truly amazing.

Suddenly, he could speak again. His hands itched to use the numerous curses he could think of on Snape. His fingertips practically glowed with the magic flowing through them.

"_Incarcerous!_"

Harry had never performed anything with so much ease. Ropes twisted themselves around Snape before he could respond, before he even registered what had happened.

Harry stepped in front of the bound Professor. "Why?" he asked. "Why would you want to hurt me?"

He could feel his bursts of magic rapidly fading away, but it didn't matter anymore. Harry took a few extra precautions and took away Snape's wand.

To his astonishment, there was a little smile on Snape's face, full of triumph.

To his even greater astonishment, Snape brought his hands slowly together. "I applause you, Potter. I do hope I wouldn't make your head even bigger… but your performance was marvellous."

Harry's head was spinning. The word 'marvellous' was an impossibly high praise coming from Snape, but…

"At this rate, you'll win the competition."

Confused, Harry turned to look at Snape again. "You tried to kill me."  
It came out sounding accusing.

Snape smirked his old smirk. "Exactly. I must also applaud my own acting skills, then. But in all honesty, Potter, you were easy to fool."

"You mean… you didn't really mean to kill me?"

Harry couldn't believe it. It had all been a stupid trick, to get him to react. He couldn't _believe_ how Snape had toyed with him and his mind in such a disrespectful way.

Harry shook his head angrily. "Well, that was taking it rather far, if you ask me. Wait, _no!_ You never bothered to ask my permission!"

Snape sighed in an infuriating way. "Potter, don't be thick. It was the only way for your magic to come out and present itself. Did you _see_ how many successful shields you managed? You even ruined my robes."

"That was a violation of my rights as a human being! 'I can kill you if I want'? 'I wonder if you'll beg for mercy'? I cannot _believe_ how ridiculous this whole thing was! You threw numerous Cruciatus and even an Avada Kedavra at me! Was it all so I'd believe your fraud? What if, just say _what if_, your Avada Kedavra and Cruciatus actually hit me? I suppose I'd experience a few seconds of agony I'd never felt in my life if it was the Cruciatus… so no big deal, but _what_ about the Avada Kedavra?"

"The Avada Kedavra was purposely directed away from you, which was why I missed you by such a long distance. Do you think I naturally have such rubbish aim? As for the Cruciatus, you actually were hit by that one. And did you feel any pain?"

"_Yes!_ I crashed against the wall! It's _such_ a great relief to know I wasn't going to get tortured or killed in the first place, by the way!" Harry snarled.

"Potter, don't be childish. You've proved yourself more than ready for tomorrow, by the way. Take your leave anytime you want, and try and sleep your silly anger off, will you?"

With that Snape turned on his heels and left the room, leaving Harry to glare angrily after him.

* * *

**Hehe. Please tell me if you fell for it, just like Harry. The competitions will be in the next chapter. Please give me reviews! **


	14. First Duel

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Here you go - the first part of the competition. Don't forget to review! You've no idea how much I love those, even if it is just to say something obvious. **

**I want to thank Sun Blinded and emerald777 for lifting my mood. **

* * *

"The contestants are stationed here; eight students from each year level, two students from each house. Students of the same year are situated in the same row, hence the reason for seven rows. The other students who are not participating will be sitting apart from the contenders," Snape explained.

"What about the rules of the competition?" Harry questioned, an urgent expression on his face. He was feeling slightly light-headed, and he knew he was pale and clammy. He had difficulty breathing evenly; one breath long and one breath short.

Suddenly, without warning, Snape seized Harry's wrists and said in a low voice, "Calm down, Potter. Get yourself together. You have come more prepared than most of them" – he nodded vaguely at Harry's other opponents – "so you have nothing to be nervous about."

Then in a louder voice, he said, "Here, Potter. Sit down." And steered Harry into his seat.

Almost quivering with apprehension, Harry sat on the soothingly cool bench, his face still a pasty white.

"I'll come back later to explain the rules and run a few pointers with you," Snape assured, before striding away.

Harry tried to calm his racing heart and took a couple deep breaths. The moment he sat down, his limbs seemed to have turned into marshmallows. In his nervousness, he hardly even noticed Draco Malfoy sitting directly next to him.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for Malfoy, who raised an eyebrow at Harry and sneered.

"Oh, look who it is!" he said in a disgustingly syrupy voice. "Fancy _you_ being here, Potter… but then who isn't? Hey, I don't see your mudblood girlfriend anywhere."

Harry was glad his brain hadn't shut down like his limbs. "Really? Then you must be blind. She's right there," he retorted, gesturing at Hermione who was waving encouragingly at him from the other side of the hall.  
Harry returned Hermione a tentative smile.

Meanwhile, Malfoy had turned away from him in a huff, and Harry was happy to bask in his moment of undisrupted peace for a couple of minutes.

At that point, Draco said out of the blue, "You don't _actually_ expect get into the second round for the competition, do you?"

Harry's brows knitted together in a mocking way, as if he was truly considering what Malfoy had said. "Nah, not really. I expect I'd get into the final round."

Of course, he was fibbing – he had no such intentions – but Malfoy's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in shock, greatly amusing Harry.

"The colour of arrogance doesn't suit you, Potter," Malfoy spat.

"I know. It suits _you_ best because it's become used to you."

"I'm not as arrogant as to believe I'd win the competition!" Malfoy raised his voice indignantly. "But I'm aware of one thing; I'll wipe the floor with you."

Harry was feeling rather thankful towards Malfoy. The Slytherin was, in fact, distracting him from his own stresses by engaging him in an argument.

"How wonderful," Harry replied, in a bored tone.

Draco's face flushed the colour of a flustered beetroot. "I'll embarrass you in front of everyone so much that you'll never dare to show face to your mudblood girlfriend again," he promised.

"When I beat you, you won't be calling her that foul word anymore."

"_Why, you insolent little_ _bastar_–"

"Are you sure you want to finish that sentence, Draco? You know I don't tolerate swearing from children."

Malfoy was interrupted in midsentence by an icy voice that literally seemed to still the air.

While Draco twisted around in shock to look at the newcomer, Harry froze in his seat. He'd be able to recognise that rich voice and cold undertone anywhere.

It seemed Voldemort had come to watch the show.

"Sor – sorry, my lord," Draco stuttered. "I didn't know you were coming tonight."

Voldemort smiled charmingly. "I wouldn't miss this competition for the world." Here, he gazed intently at the stage, as if imagining duelling students. "We're not here on business, Draco. There's no need to be so formal."

"Yes, my lord," said Draco.

"So you've made it into this competition…" Voldemort remarked. "Congratulations, your father will be so proud, just as I am."

Draco's chest instantly puffed up. "Thank you so much, my lord. I _am_ the best first year duellist in Slytherin…but it isn't worth boasting about, because I do not yet have the title of the winner of the competition tonight."

"Ever so modest, Draco," complimented the Dark Lord, eyes twinkling.

Harry nearly gagged. Best duellist in Slytherin? Not _yet_ having the title of the winner of the competition?

He wondered if Draco even knew what the words 'shame' and 'pride' meant. If the Slytherin had any sort of pride, apart from the arrogant kind, he would not dishonour himself by exaggerating his own capabilities in this fashion.

"I wonder what your father will say if you_ do_ win tonight's competitions," commented Voldemort casually. "Even _I_ will be remarkably impressed. But the older years have such a head start, such a huge advantage."

"Isn't it the mark of an excellent duellist? To duel people double their age and win?" Draco said.

"It is, indeed," the Dark Lord agreed, smiling.

"Who do _you _think will win?" Draco asked Lord Voldemort boldly, almost rudely. The poor idiot was probably still giddy after receiving so many praises from the dark wizard.

Harry saw the Dark Lord's face darken for the slightest of moments. "I truly have no idea." He shrugged delicately. "I'm not placing any bets until I've seen their capabilities. But I suppose you stand as much of a chance as any other student."

Draco's grin lit up his whole face like a Christmas tree. "You really think so?"

"How can I not?"

Harry noted a mocking edge to the Dark Lord's tone. He felt a snort of laughter rising up at Draco's own childish foolishness, but he suppressed it with a polite cough.

Lord Voldemort turned his head Harry's way and genuinely seemed to see him for the first time. "Mr Potter, how delightful to see you're one of tonight's participants. I will be keen to see you duel with top-duellist Mr Malfoy here."

"How do you do," greeted Harry, as courteously as he could.

"I'm very well, thank you," said Voldemort abstractedly. But he didn't seem overly interested in hearing what else Harry had to say.  
"Oh look, Severus is coming this way. I'd better be on my way. I'll see you later, Draco. Good luck to both of you."

With that, the Dark Lord disappeared into the crowd.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. This confirmed that Voldemort was no longer interested him. Since that day he found out about his dad, the dark wizard had not bothered him. The Dark Lord had plenty of opportunities; he was frequently around Hogwarts – Harry had seen him up on the stands with the other staff during Quidditch matches and often in the great hall, but Voldemort never approached him.

Harry had been afraid that this night, seeing Harry was also competing, Voldemort's interest in him would reawaken. He counted his lucky stars that the Dark Lord didn't even pay much attention to him.

A moment later, Professor Snape walked up to the pair of them. "The competition will launch in a couple of minutes at most. You should prepare yourselves, mentally. Once you're out there, the pressure is on."

"Professor, the rules of the competition?" Harry asked.

"No maiming or fatal injuries. There were no mentions about serious injuries, so keep in mind that many students will be ruthless. The use of the Killing Curse is forbidden but the two lesser Unforgivables are not."

"_What?_" Harry blurted angrily. "Are they serious?"

"Scared, Potter?" Draco smirked.

"You wish," he shot back.

"Be quiet, both of you." Snape turned back to Harry. "Unfortunately, yes; they're serious about free use of the Unforgivables."

Harry glared in the direction of Carrow.

"I was not forewarned about the Unforgivables, so I didn't teach you how to resist the Imperius. It's too late now. Draco, Potter, if you feel the effects of the Imperius upon you, try to resist whatever it tells you to do. Use your willpower to break free of its hold as soon as possible."

"Anything else?"

"Starting with the first years and going up, one student from every house is going to get eliminated, leaving only four students from each year level. Those four students will fight all at once on the stage, again with the first years up first. Each student aims to conquer the other three. That means a total of twenty one students will be eliminated, leaving only seven; one from each year level. The first year champion will be pitched against the second year. Depending on who wins, she or he will proceed on to battling the third year student. The winner of that duel will fight the fourth year… and so on."

"Sounds complicated," muttered Malfoy.

"You'll wrap your head around it soon enough," answered Snape. "A last word of advice, Potter, keep your head up and shoulders back. Whatever you do, just don't let your opponent intimidate you. If you keep your cool, half the battle is already won. Dig for your rival's weakness – you can't always rely on raw power. And Draco, just remember your spells."

Harry nodded numbly.

"Now that you have a rough idea of what's going to happen, I have to go."

Harry watched anxiously as the Slytherin Head turned away.

"Oh, and Potter?" Snape stopped suddenly, beckoning for him. "Come here."

Harry went.

"Do not show your full capacity until you have to. The surprise element will work to your advantage," Snape whispered into Harry's ear.

* * *

Harry watched as Carrow stepped up to address the whole school. She was wearing dark purple robes, instead of her ordinary black.

Her shoes clicked with each step as she approached.

"_Hem_," she cleared her throat. "This is the biggest event we've had this year. Naturally, it is all very exciting. I know you've all looked forward to this for weeks. I know the tension is in the air. I know the audience is restless. I know many of you have friends as participants. Therefore, I thrilled to announce the duelling competition's official opening!"

The Headmistress suddenly brandished her wand and jabbed at the air. The plain walls of Hogwarts were instantly draped with gold curtains with silver rims. The old stage became polished and shiningly black. The staff table was moved closest to the stage. And finally, the entire hall erupted into thunderous applause.

Carrow stepped down, and Voldemort, in smart black robes, took her place.

His icy blue eyes swept the hall, and his pale lips stretched into a seemingly sincere smile. He folded his hands neatly together, the slender, pale fingers entwined.

"Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen, students and staff. I welcome you to tonight's duelling competition, lined with the finest young contestants I have ever seen. For those of you in the audience, I encourage you to learn from these participants and enjoy this event as thoroughly as you can."

His voice was smooth, dripping with honey.

"As for the contenders, your main purpose is to give us a good show."

The hall burst into chuckles. The Dark Lord smiled a little.

"Today is history. Today will be remembered. Years from now, your children – grandchildren will ask with wonder about this event. But what is so special about this evening, you ask, it's only a duelling competition. That is where you are wrong. Tonight will be recorded down in Hogwart's most ancient books as something of magnificent importance – not only to our school but to the whole nation. Treasure every moment, because today is history and you are a part of it."

The Dark Lord straightened the sleeves of his robes coolly. "I speak now, contenders, to you alone. I want for you all to take this seriously. The competition tonight is not a fun fair. If you treat it like one, you'll be disqualified. The rules, which you already know, clearly state the use of the Unforgivables is permitted, excluding the Killing Curse. And I am not about to contradict that."

Outraged gasps from the audience echoed resoundingly through the hall. They hadn't been informed until now.

The Dark Lord ignored these sounds as he continued calmly.

"If you are eliminated from the competition, you are eliminated. There are no second chances. However, if you win, you'll be rewarded handsomely and personally by me. You will not _only_ receive eternal glory but you'll also find that your future is secure. Your yearly grades for Dark Arts, transfiguration and charms will all be marked as Outstanding. You will get special rights around the school, for example, using the Prefects' bathroom when you're not a prefect. Unfortunately, there can only be one victor. And that one victor is who we will celebrate. This is all I will say for now. Let the duelling competitions begin."

Voldemort stepped away, and Bellatrix took his spot.

"The first round of duels will proceed in this following sequence; first year Slytherin verses first year Slytherin, first year Gryffindor verses first year Gryffindor, first year Ravenclaw verses first year Ravenclaw, first year Hufflepuff verses first year Hufflepuff… Second year Slytherin verses second year Slytherin, second year Gryffindor verses second year Gryffindor, second year Ravenclaw verses second year Ravenclaw, second year Hufflepuff verses second year Hufflepuff… Third year Slytherin verses third year Slytherin, third year Gryffindor verses third year Gryffindor, third year Ravenclaw verses third year Ravenclaw, third year Hufflepuff verses third year Hufflepuff… Fourth year Slytherin verses fourth year Slytherin…and so on."

Harry's breath caught.

"Will the first year Slytherins please come up?" requested Bellatrix. "Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter."

Dazedly, Harry moved up the stage, feeling the frantic thumping of his heart.

They took their positions at opposite ends of the stage and bowed courteously to each other, in the exact way Snape had drummed into their heads earlier in the day.

Harry swallowed nervously. He was confident he would be able to beat Malfoy…but his limbs felt excessively rigid. He knew Snape had high expectations for him, both Snape and Hermione. He had to admit to himself he did not want to disappoint either of the,

"On the count of three…one, two…three!" Bellatrix gave the starting call.

Draco reacted before Harry did.  
"_Crucio!_" he yelled. "_Crucio_, _crucio!_"

The red lights that flashed out of Draco's wand looked weak and sickly; more of a pinkish colour than red. Harry doubted the Cruciatus Curses would do too much harm even if they did come in contact with him.

However, he wasn't about to risk it.

He watched and waited as the spells spun closer and closer with a strange sense of impassiveness. At the last possible moment, he nimbly sidestepped all three curses, not bothering to even conjure a shield.

"Too slow, Malfoy," Harry remarked, aware of the number of people watching. "Your aim is rubbish."

He felt uneasily awkward, speaking so freely in front of the whole school, but saying those words felt extraordinarily good.

He was determined to humiliate Malfoy while he could; he'd had enough of the arrogance of the blond haired rat.

A pale blush spread over Draco's cheeks. "Actions count more than words," he answered. "_Expelliarmus_."

Harry didn't even make an effort to dodge this time, letting the spell fly over his shoulder. "I agree." He shrugged. "Actions do count more than words."

Perhaps he ought to consider becoming an actor for his future career – it was remarkable how his voice disguised ever trace of his nervousness. It surprised even him.

"You're a stupid hypocrite, Potter," Draco spat.

Harry smiled exasperatedly; Draco's distracted mind left a giant gap in his defence. Harry went for it.  
"_Capillus rosea_."

The Slytherin didn't even have time to raise his wand before the spell struck his forehead. Immediately, every single piece of his hair turned bright pink.

Revenge completed.

The entire student-body roared with laughter. Harry thought he even saw somebody fall off their seat.

He grinned slightly, losing some of his prior anxiety. It was nice to be the creator of such humour, and what made it even better was that the humour was at Malfoy's expense.

Harry scanned around for Snape, who was sitting very close to the stage, at the staff table. His lips were twitching faintly.

"_Stupefy!_"

The hex nearly caught Harry on the arm, due to his lack of concentration. He berated himself fiercely.

Not paying complete attention was an act of idiocy on his part. How ironic it would be if Harry himself was beaten for something so trivial.

"_Rictumsempra_," Harry called.

His aim was perfect, but his spell died away upon touch with Malfoy's shield.

"_Petrificus totalis!_" Malfoy shouted back.

Harry sent a spell which met Malfoy's in mid-air. Both forces were destroyed in a clap of coloured sparks.

"_Crucio!_"

Harry prepared his body for a giant bound over the spell. His leg muscles tensed, ready for the spring. Waiting until the final moment, he jumped.

That was when it happened.

Instead of a graceful, antelope-like leap, he launched into the air with his legs bonded together. His shoelaces. The shoelaces on both shoes were tied together.

He couldn't believe he had fallen head-first into Malfoy's ploy. Draco must have gotten a spell across to Harry without him noticing.

It was these little spells originally intended for mischief that were the hardest to discover – too weak to detect and too effective to stop until it was too late.

Harry staggered right into the way of the oncoming Cruciatus.

A yelp ripped out of his mouth as strength of the curse propelled him backwards. He was thrown like a rag doll somersaulting into the air.

Then he plummeted straight for the ground.

He landed on his back. Suddenly, his world of comparative peace was intruded by a sharp pain that racked through his entire body.

No, it wasn't the curse. The curse hadn't worked. Well, hadn't worked the way it was supposed to.

He managed to withhold a scream as he heard the crack of a bone in his body. Stupid, stupid. Beaten by Malfoy.

His ribs felt like they had been run over by a truck. He wondered whether his legs were broken.

Harry felt dizzy, light-headed; that he'd black out from the agony.

Blurrily, he saw a figure abruptly stand up from the staff table. It was Snape. Snape looked as if he intended to stop the duel right then and there, but a small, disapproving shake of the head from the Dark Lord made him sit back down again.

Draco was advancing on him, wand raised smugly. "Who's humiliating who now, Potter?"

Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut as Malfoy sent a malicious cutting hex at him, followed by a stinging hex.

Both times, they struck. He had no way of stopping them. His wand was lying several metres away from him.

Hopeless. And he'd had high hopes for this competition. He could hardly believe it, as Malfoy kicked out at him. Taken out on the first round, taken out by worthless Malfoy.

It truly was happening… it really was, but that didn't mean he had to accept it. A fire flare sparked to life in his heart. His will to persist in this competition flared to life again.

He gathered all his energy and rammed the agonising pain forcefully to the back of his head, and targeted a well-aimed, full forced kick at Malfoy's right leg.

He heard a crunch as Malfoy fell to the ground, with a shriek.

Using the remainder of his strength, Harry hoisted himself from the ground and lunged in the direction of his wand.

He fell short. Harry hoisted his body up again and threw himself forward, again. And again. And again. Until he felt his wand in its rightful place – his hand.

Harry turned around, saw Malfoy still sobbing where he'd last left him, and rasped out the quickest spell to eliminate Malfoy from this duel. "_Stupefy_."

Malfoy's eyes rolled back, and his head fell with a thud.

With an exhausted sigh, Harry let himself drop to the floor too. He had won his first duel. He had _won_!

The Dark Lord stood up from his place at the staff table and faced the audience. "The first to be eliminated – Draco Malfoy. Mr Potter will proceed onto the next round."

Harry saw Bellatrix step up onto the stage with a stunned expression, and awaken Malfoy using '_ennervate_' before directing him off the stage, with him, eyes tearing and hands supporting his leg.

The moment Voldemort finished speaking, Professor Snape sprung from his seat with a speediness Harry had never considered possible, and headed towards him in large strides.

"Potter," he said. "Can you walk?"

"I don't know," Harry said. And that was the truth – he didn't.

Professor Snape, with an unusual gentleness, supported Harry off the stage, through the hall and to his potions lab.

Along the way, Harry saw a red-eyed Hermione.

"Oh _Harry!_" she cried. "I can't believe them! Pull out, Harry, you _have_ to pull out!"

Harry gave her a watery grin. "After beating Malfoy? No thanks. Calm down, Hermione. It's nothing."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Snape stepped roughly in front of Harry.

"Granger, he has to be fixed up. Would you rather make him wait here while you rant on and on until he _dies_ from blood loss or would you rather _kindly_ allow me to do my job?"

Harry looked down at his robes. It was true – he hadn't noticed it before – but red blood was showing through, the wet patch becoming bigger by the minute.

That didn't mean Snape had to be so harsh though, because Hermione, already worried about Harry, burst into small sobs again.

"Sorry, Professor, I didn't –"

Snape didn't even linger long enough to hear the rest of her apology. He quickly sped Harry as fast as he could down to his lab.

He made Harry sit down on one of his armchairs while he rushed to the potion storage to collect the right potions.

Harry thought he heard the sound of smashing glass and someone cursing. It seemed Professor Snape really was in a hurry.

"Here." He handed Harry a potion. "Drink all of that."

Harry obeyed without any questions. The moment he downed all of it, the pain eased by any indescribable amount.

"Will you allow me to feel around your ribs and back?" asked Snape, eyes hard. It was obvious that no matter what answer Harry gave, he was still going to do it.

Harry nodded, simply.

He felt cold fingers running down his back, probing lightly at different spots. Harry winced in many places, but Snape kept going.

At one spot, Harry let out a small yell.

"Struck gold," Snape muttered dryly.

He took out his wand and cast a spell on that spot.

"I'm no mediwitch, but I still am capable of fixing you up," he said.

Harry nodded. If Madam Pomfrey wasn't available, then surely a Potions Master was the next best thing.

"Was it broken?" Harry asked.

"Luckily, no. Nothing was broken. You suffered severe bruising, blood loss, and your left shoulder was dislocated, but you'll be fine…"

Snape muttered another incantation, and directed the magic flow at Harry.

Instantly, all the pain disappeared. Harry blinked up at Snape in amazement.

"What?" Snape gave a small smirk. "I do have a few tricks up my sleeve."

He felt…not quite as good as new…but close, very close. Apart from feeling a little stiff, he suffered no other problems.

Now that Harry had just about recovered, Snape glared daggers at Harry.

"You are a _disgrace_, Potter."

"_What?_" Harry was caught off guard by the remark.

"Almost beaten in the _first_ round by something so _trivial_. Did you even _consider_ you could have lost because of _bad luck_? I didn't educate you for _five_ months just to have you fail simply because you didn't notice something!"

Harry frowned back. "Seriously? Instead of fearing for my safety, you fear I won't win the competition?"

Snape slammed his hand down fiercely. "Potter!" he barked. "Clear your head. You nearly gave me a panic attack today! Do you realise because of _you_, I have discredited myself in front of the Dark Lord?"

Harry recalled that moment when Snape stood up despite Voldemort's warnings, and he felt guilty.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Speaking of the competition, don't you think I would miss out on the second round if I'm away too long?"

Snape shook his head. "No. They have the rest of the year levels to go through. While you're in here, I can give you some advice."

"Okay." Harry relented.

"Number one," Snape said, "don't ever overlook something again. Number two; don't ever let a Cruciatus touch you. It'll cause you so much pain that you'd never get back up on your feet again. Can you imagine what state you'd be in if Draco's Cruciatus did work? Because, Potter, I assure you, the older years are experienced with the Unforgivables."

Harry nodded.

"Thirdly, you do _not_ linger on the stage longer than you have to. When you turned Draco's hair pink, you could have stupefied him instead. Four, you have to remember to use your stronger curses when needed. When facing the older years, you do not stay on the basic spells. Five, do not act the gentleman and go easy on them."

Harry looked indignant. "I'm not_ such_ an idiot!"

"Believe me; playing the gentleman is too much like something you'd do. Six, you should use the Unforgivables when you have to."

"_What?_" Harry looked repulsed. "_No!_"

"Look at me, Potter. Your Cruciatus is so strong that even the Dark Lord will look at you in another light. Trust me; it will work to your advantage. You have to play to your strengths."

"So basically, what you're saying is that my strong point is in the Dark Arts," Harry deadpanned, feeling annoyed at what he considered an accusation.

"Yes. You have to accept that you _are_ talented in those areas."

Harry grunted.

"So…will you do it?" Snape questioned.

Harry still looked _very_ unwilling. "…I'll consider it."

* * *

**Oooooh...will Harry ****_really_**** use the Cruciatus? Wait and see. I promise I'll have the next chapter up in one week at most - most likely sooner.**

**I love reviews just as much as I love... I love Voldemort! **


	15. Victory Or Defeat?

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**I'd just like to thank everyone who has reviewed. I'm very grateful. And here is the promised chapter. With unknown results.**

* * *

"We're finally into the second rounds," Bellatrix declared. "I would like the first year finalists to come up - Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, Romilda Vane from Gryffindor, Cho Chang from Ravenclaw and Harry Potter from Slytherin up on the stage please… all four of you."

"Potter, move!" Snape hissed as Harry stood slowly and walked up with the rest of the students.

Cho Chang, the Chinese girl, smiled at him on the way up the stage. He smiled back.

The other two, however, remained stony faced and didn't even so much as acknowledge him.

As they were given different positions on the stage by Bellatrix, Harry found himself at the very right.

His hands were sweating again, his grasp on his wand feeling slippery. It was odd how he never got used to the tension of being in front of so many people. Being the _entertainment_ for so many people.

"Do you all understand your roles?" Bellatrix asked them. "Your job is to fend for yourself while taking the other three out. The last student standing is the first year champion."

All three nodded and Harry found himself nodding with them.

"I feel that it is pointless reviewing the rules again – for I am sure all of you have already memorised them by heart."

They nodded again.

Bellatrix smiled. "Very well, then…" She marched off the stage and stood facing the audience with an air of mysteriousness. "We'll let the duel begin!"

Her last word signalled the start.

Harry felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest. The beats were so fast, thrumming in quick rhythms that Harry began to wonder whether he would suffer a heart attack.

Remembering Snape's instructions only too well, Harry snapped up a shield as quick as he could and eyed the other three vigilantly.

There was no way he was going to let history repeat itself and lose the duel by being careless.

He saw the Gryffindor girl, Romilda Vane, take up her wand tightly in her left hand and shoot two disarming spells at Ernie Macmillan, the blonde haired Hufflepuff boy.

Macmillan backed up as few steps, fending off the spells and returned a few as a form of reprisal. They thumped harmlessly off Romilda Vane's shield.

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Cho Chang backing up until she was well out of the fight and watching from a distance. Harry followed her example and did the same.

Why not let the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor battle it until they were tired…and then he would strike?

The Macmillan and Romilda Vane traded a few more spells before Macmillan called for her to stop.

"Wait! Don't, stop! Wait a moment!" he yelled, shield straining against Romilda's ongoing spells.

"You're an idiot if you think I'll fall for that!" the Gryffindor girl snarled.

"No!" Macmillan protested loudly. "You, the Ravenclaw, and I; we should form an alliance and take the Slytherin wretch out first! _Then_ we can turn on each other."

Harry felt as though someone had slipped an ice cube down his robes. He willed the Gryffindor girl to decline; it just wasn't possible to defeat all of them. Three against one.

Harry immediately glanced at Snape. Forming alliances wasn't fair – it tipped the scales so much that the person teamed up on would never stand a chance.

However, Snape's grim expression told him instantly there was nothing in the rules forbidding this act.

Romilda Vane halted for a moment, her eyes glistening. She considered this proposal, and nodded, swiftly. "Agreed. We'll eliminate the Slytherin together, and _then_ I'll deal with you."

Harry bit his lip anxiously. Was this blatant discrimination? Just because he was a Slytherin he was untrustworthy and evil?

He was battered around by the Slytherins because he was too much like a Gryffindor, and he was also picked on by the other houses because he was officially a Slytherin.

How on earth could this possibly be listed down as fair? But then whoever said life _was_ fair?

"You, the Ravenclaw, are you with us?" Ernie Macmillan asked roughly. "If not, we'll wipe you out first."

Blackmail? What an underhanded method.

Harry saw Cho Chang hesitate, debating on whether to follow the option that brought her the most benefit or to play fair. It was obvious she was uncomfortable.

Reluctantly, with a guilty look on her face, she called out, "Fine."

Avoiding Harry's eyes, Cho Chang sent a disarming spell at him. He barely felt its presence before it vanished upon lightly touching his shield.

Cho Chang's move was quickly mirrored by Macmillan and Romilda Vane.

Spells thudded against his shield like raining bullets. The sheer vehemence of it took his breath away. Red sparks, blue sparks, gold sparks, all flew towards him with one purpose – to throw him out of his competition.

The spells were hurled from all directions and one by one, they clashed with his shield before dropping harmlessly down.

Harry's panic ceased slightly. Even the combined powers of all three students could not rival Professor's Snape's curses.

If he endured all Snape's tricks without any slip-ups, then he was sure he would also live through this.

But as the spells continued sailing through the air in a never-ending stream, Harry knew that although he may be able to maintain his position for at least ten minutes, or perhaps even twenty, he would eventually get tired.

Then he would falter. Thus resulting in his elimination.  
No, that wasn't acceptable.

He had made it through the first round – but that wasn't good enough – he was determined on making it through the second. And then possibly the third, depending on the circumstances.

Some people would call him overly ambitious. But he thought he had a grasp of the potential of his magic.

Despite Malfoy's close win, Harry could easily have beaten him – easily as the wind would have blown away a leaf. He just knew it. If Malfoy's stance, aim and power had been so pathetic what made these students any better?

He had to drop his defensive stance and get on the offensive. However, the very second he let down his shield, he would be hit by a large variety of spells.

No, this wouldn't do. It was time to unleash some of the more powerful curses Snape taught him.

Harry's teeth gritted together and his muscles tensed. Whether this would work relied entirely on whether he was quick enough.

That was how two things, which seemed to happen in the exact same time, caught the other three students _entirely _by surprise.

After facing the next volley of spells, Harry made his move. The first thing he did was throwing down his shield.

The other three didn't even have time to be surprised before he dove for the ground.

His sudden interchange took up only two seconds, just swift enough to avoid the next shower of curses aimed at the spot he had stood.

His wand whipped through the air at a speed which it appeared blurred to the human eye and he muttered a spell under his breath. "_Vapos!_"

They were instantly plunged into black smoke. It was as if inky curtains had swallowed up the light. It gave Harry sufficient time to stand up and prepare himself. He heard angry voices and yells as he waited patiently for the smoke to clear.

The spell was one of those emergency ones Snape had taught him. It had been hard to muster, but it was now worth it.

It set Harry at a temporary advantage. He was familiar with the spell while the others had never seen it before.  
He smiled grimly to himself.

The moment the black smoke drifted away to reveal the blurry silhouette of Romilda Vane, he jumped into action, his moves as fluid as water.

Harry brought his wand down in a curving slash, in the movement Snape had pounded into his head. "_Alligaveritis!_"

The smoky black ropes that had caused Harry so much annoyance back when Snape was teaching him was now under his command and obeying his every whim.

It snaked, without delay, towards Romilda Vane. At the last second, she pushed up a shield. Unfortunately, for _her_ not for Harry, her shield did not even withstand the first lash of the ropes.

Harry could tell she was shocked, just as he had been, when the ropes, instead of disappearing, drew back to gain some thrust and lashed out at the shield again.

They twisted smoothly around her wrist with the grace of real serpents, and jerked her right off the ground, a two metres up into the air.

Romilda Vane's legs flailed.

With his wand, Harry jabbed in Cho Chang's direction. The smoky ropes swung Romilda Vane's body towards Cho Chang with such momentum that the poor Ravenclaw was knocked out cold while Romilda ended up on top of her.

Harry sent a quick stupefy at Romilda. He felt sorry for doing that to Cho Chang. He was sure she would have a killer headache threatening her the moment she woke up again.

As for Romilda… she was just another defeated opponent.

Harry celebrated with a little smirk in Ernie Macmillan's direction. Two down, one more to go.  
He was going to enjoy this very much.

"You're very proud, aren't you," Macmillan snarled.

"Very," Harry agreed.

"I just want you to know that I'll –"

Harry felt faintly amused. "We best not dawdle, there are plenty of other people waiting to perform," he interrupted. "_Langlock!_"

The spell hit Macmillian in the stomach. He doubled over. His mouth opened and closed without any sound coming out.

Harry grinned. "It's a little trick I learned from my instructor," he said.

Macmillan's face twisted into an ugly scowl, and he lifted the offensive finger at Harry. Harry himself didn't particularly care too much. However, for his own amusement, he put in, "You're officially not 'defeated' yet, though I doubt you have any chance now. That means I can torture you if I want."

He made sure he almost matched Snape word for word. He might as well bring Snape a little entertainment as a gesture of thanks. Oh god, his humour was starting to become more and more like Snape's.

Macmillan paled. Harry didn't know why, but he didn't particularly feel sorry for the Hufflepuff or feel any ounce of regret.

He was just about fed up with the discrimination towards all Slytherins. If Snape wanted him to torture someone, he might as well pick the Hufflepuff brat, he thought humorously.

Harry suddenly froze. Of course, he never really meant it, but he was appalled at the direction his sense of humour was turning.

* * *

Harry was now sitting on the wooden bench, feeling as if his face would split. He was smiling so much that it couldn't possibly be healthy.

He had sailed through the second and third duels with flying colours, literally. There were so many colours zooming back and forth with the amount of spells going on. But nonetheless, Harry had made it out with minimum injury.

His second duel had been with a rough-looking boy with bulging muscles that heaved under his robes every time he moved his arms. In truth, he looked part gorilla. And the boy had a repulsive attitude that Harry detested.

So Harry had called him a buffoon, to his face. Apparently, there wasn't much restraint in his thick scull, because he was extraordinarily quick to anger. Harry swore he saw steam coming out of the boy's nose.

The boy looked like he wanted to come charging at Harry like an enraged bull and rip him to pieces with his bare hands.

All the better. Anger stopped people from thinking clearly. It was one thing Harry had too much experience with.

Following Snape's advice of digging out people's weaknesses, Harry had worked the boy's anger to his advantage and knocked him down flat with a few misleading spells and distractions while actually planning for the sectumsempra curse with one hand behind his back.

Harry could now see why it was a dark curse. There was so much blood when the curse was fired. Apparently, Snape had been going easy on him when he had cast the curse on Harry.

Harry almost regretted casting it. Almost. He was sure the gorilla boy would have cast something equally dreadful on him if he had the chance.

When his victory became obvious, it seemed the entire hall was dumbfounded. The gorilla boy had been the top in his year, and had one extra year of experience than Harry… and yet the first year Slytherin had won.

Down in the audience, Hermione looked like she had tears of joy in her eyes. Even Snape looked proud. Of his own teaching skills.

It seemed like he had finally managed to earn himself a name. He had done something extraordinary, something no one else did. He had performed marvellously.

Draco was flushing fiercely in the audience – only a couple of undefeated people still remained at the competitors' seating. The other Slytherins looked torn between boasting that one of their members was doing so well and ignoring him.

Harry felt satisfied. Triumphant. Determined. Successful. A mixture of _all _those emotions. Never once before in his life had he felt this way. The feeling seemed so addicting…so absolutely _wonderful_.

Never before in his life had he proved himself to be this…worthy. But this wasn't enough yet. He needed to achieve more. Now that he had gotten a taste of what victory felt like, he needed more.

He could gain more by winning the competition. He wanted to win. But he knew the chances of that were still slim.

Whether he won or not, Harry promised himself he would find that same feeling of achievement through something else.

Possibly for one of the first times, Harry was thrilled he was at Hogwarts.

The only downside was that the intense gaze of the Dark Lord was once again pinned steadfastly on him.

Great. He somehow managed to attract Voldemort's attention. Again. This was just great.

Now that Harry thought about it, Voldemort had seemed mildly interested in him before – such as when he conjured the black ropes, when he defeated three students single-handedly, when he presented the more complicated spells – but now… now that Voldemort had seen his sectumsempra, Harry was once more under his tight scrutiny.

Lord Voldemort wasn't even attempting to hide his interest. At first Harry tried not to look at the Dark Lord, in hopes his attention would just go away by itself.

No such luck. After that, he had taken to peeking at the dark wizard to see if he was still observing him.

Their eyes had met three out of four times. Harry flinched away the moment Voldemort stared into his eyes, but not before he saw the small smirk on the Dark Lord's lips.

Harry felt a burning annoyance. Why couldn't the Dark Lord go and bug someone else? Why him? He was always, _always_ the unfortunate one.

When Lord Voldemort stared at Harry openly, his expression wasn't always plain interest. Sometimes he seemed distracted, musing.

It was as if Harry was a piece of meat and the Dark Lord was asking himself where to put Harry in the fridge, or maybe whether to cook Harry with carrots or just to throw Harry into a bowl of chicken soup.

Perhaps he was just feeling paranoid, and maybe the Dark Lord _wasn't_ that interested in him. Maybe he was just exaggerating the Dark Lord's attention… but Harry had a chilling feeling that it wasn't so.

He had a horrible, horrible feeling that things were going to get complicated, much more complicated and worse. He had a strong gut intuition that things were just beginning.

The Dark Lord was a very powerful man. The most powerful man in the nation. Perhaps not by name, but from the things Harry had heard, he ruled like a king in the shadows.

The Dark Lord had many followers. He had a natural charm that not only worked on the opposite gender but also the young, old, and the in-between. Voldemort could do whatever he wanted.

He could prance about on the streets in a pink tutu, in the transfigured form of a pig. As long as people knew the pig was Lord Voldemort, they would flee in fear.

Lord Voldemort had everything he could ever want. He had more than what the common man could ever imagine. He had more than what anyone had ever obtained.

So_ why_ would he plant his interest in someone like Harry?

If it was possible, Voldemort had grown even _more_ observant of Harry after he won the duel with the third year champion. His eyes were practically gleaming.

Harry didn't doubt why.

It was most likely that he had cast his first premeditated, fully-premeditated Cruciatus.

Harry was disgusted with himself. In all honesty, he didn't know why he did it. He really had no idea. _Why?_ He kept asking himself. _Why?_ And yet, he didn't even know.

There was an acrid, bile taste in his mouth, a nauseating mixture between sourness and bitterness.  
So unlike from the mind-blowing savours igniting on his tongue that came with the Cruciatus.

That was just it. When he was performing the curse, his mind had been in a perfectly composed state. He had been wholly calm, cold. He had raised his wand, his hand still and unshaking, and the curse had just…just _arisen_ from it; he didn't even have to _will_ it into happening.

While he was performing the curse, it was as if his mind had drifted into an emotionless state. That was what scared him the most. He hadn't even _cared_ if he hurt the third year. He cared _now_ of course, but now was too late.

He could tell his curse had been a strong one. It had ripped his opponent like a leaf from the ground. It had then proceeded to attack his opponent with such vigour that it seemed almost like it could have crushed the student like a squashed bug.

Then the screams had come. They had been blood-curdling. They had pierced through Harry's skull like needles, desperate for the agony to stop.

Harry knew that without experience the real Cruciatus for himself he would never be able to fully emphasise with the victims. Such pain was unimaginable.

While he was instructing the curse to do its worse, Harry hadn't been in his normal state of mind – he had been savouring every moment. It was sweet and heavenly with a strong aroma of greatness itself.

The horror of the truth dug its way into Harry's head and clung on with its hurting claws. Harry had enjoyed himself. Perhaps not directly in causing pain, but he had relished in the power.

The worst thing was that his opponent had been a girl.

He had struck a _girl_ with the Cruciatus Curse. He hadn't ever hit a girl before, and suddenly, in the space of a few seconds he was torturing one!

Sure, the girl was two years older than him. Sure, she had been vicious – not just the ruthless kind of vicious but the I-will-rip-you-into-shreds-because-I-have-power sort of vicious. She had looked like she would have cast something even worse than the Cruciatus on Harry.

Perhaps the only reason he had cast the curse had been brought on by her own actions.  
Harry himself had experienced one of the most painful curses that had been stored up her sleeve.  
He then had been forced into a corner, trapped by the girl with the savage leer on her face.

She had her wand raised in an all too threatening manner and was telling him outright how worthlessly pathetic his own spells had been and how she would slowly draw the torture for him out. She had been sadist. She then had explained _exactly_ how she would "punish" him for competing against her. She most likely was mad.

But Harry, like any entrapped snake, reacted with lightning-fast speed and struck out like a viper with its most venomous fangs digging downwards. The Cruciatus had been the first curse on his mind, and he had not hesitated to use it.

Harry looked up from his hands as Snape approached in a flurry of swirling robes. "What?" asked Harry stiffly before Snape even got a chance to open his mouth. "What do you want?" The hostility was thinly veiled. He partially blamed it on Snape.

"There's no need to be so uncooperative."

Harry barked out a sharp, humourless laugh. "With all due respect, sir, I personally think I am _very_ cooperative. I did as you asked although it was not my duty to oblige."  
He was, of course, referring to the curse.

"I'm only trying to congratulate you, Potter. You did a nice job," complimented Snape smoothly. "A voluntary Cruciatus. I'm impressed."

Harry swallowed down the acrid taste that once again invaded his mouth. "That's great," he muttered. "Yay me; I tortured a girl."

Snape's mouth twisted scornfully into a thin line. "You can drop that chivalrous attitude. It's not going to do you any good."

Harry ignored him. "I shouldn't have done it. It was cruel," he murmured softly, half to himself.

"It was in self-defence," said Snape shortly. "That girl was ruthless. She looked like he would have half killed you if you had allowed it. She didn't even look perfectly sane."

Harry eyed his professor doubtfully, unsure whether Snape was serious.

"I'm one hundred per cent serious, Potter. You cannot fault yourself when you acted in self defence."

Harry frowned, suspecting that Snape was reading his mind.  
"But I still shouldn't have –"

"Look, Potter," he snapped, running out of patience, "stop mopping about like some bleeding heart fool. You look ridiculous. As your Professor, I order you to clear that sorrowful look from your eyes."

Harry started to look from pensive to indignant.

"As poetic as you may believe you appear," continued Snape, "the majority just thinks you need a smack on the rear-end to wake you up."

Harry flushed an angry red. He couldn't believe Snape just said that about him.  
"I do _not_ think I look poetic," he begun heatedly. "And I do not need a beating either!"

"That's good to hear," Snape replied. "Now that you've finally got a hold of yourself, I might as well tell you that you're going to be up soon, again."

And it turned out he was. Harry was called up a few moments later.

Harry tried to control his flow of emotions as he stared at his fourth year opponent. It was better to keep a clear head during a duel.

The fourth year – a boy (thank goodness) – took the liberty of firing at least five spells non-verbally at Harry.

As Harry clicked into action, he didn't even bat an eyebrow towards the fact that the boy's level of experience outmatched his by miles.

And although it set Harry at a major disadvantage, he wasn't overly concerned. As long as he blocked every single one of the spells he had nothing to fear.

He also had a feeling this lack of anxiety was largely due to his anger at himself for not only casting the Cruciatus but _enjoying_ it as well.

Meanwhile, Harry's magic was practically chewing his insides, suddenly full of life as Harry's anger continued to bubble.

All he had to do was let it out.

The poor boy never really stood a chance. In Harry's emotional state, his magic was wild, magnifying its power by at least two times.

Harry himself found the opportunity to vent his frustration. He felt slightly guilty as he piled spell after powerful spell on the boy, but he couldn't really bring himself to care.

Electrocuting curse, cutting hex, disarming spell, other minor spells…they dove up and down, circling around the rival until he could no longer maintain his shield.

He had suffered an embarrassing defeat.

Harry had passed into the next level.

* * *

Harry could tell, instantaneously, by her movements that she was not like anyone else he had encountered.

Her movements were elegant, fluid, and yet, impenetrable. She approached him with a confident yet wary air as her cold amber eyes swept over him calculatingly, judging him thoroughly. It sent chills down his back.

Her silky platinum blonde hair swished as her graceful body took a few steps towards him, taking all his responses in stride.

With a deliberate slowness, she casually drew out her wand, letting it hang loosely between her index finger and middle finger.

Harry knew the instant he made his move, her fingers would tighten around the wood. It seemed all too familiar to his own duelling style.

He couldn't find a weakness just yet. He didn't even know how strong she was… but he had a gut feeling she was powerful. Just like him.

Her offhand body language was practically an invitation for him to make the first move. So why not take it up?

So that was what he did. He flung a stunning hex at her. She moved so fast, so lithely, that he barely even noted her leap. She lunged towards him, taking him entirely by surprise, and cast a spell of her choice. "Imperio."

Her voice was soft but sharp, like the icy winter breeze.  
And that was all Harry managed to think before he fell into a place of his dreams.

The feeling was wonderful, unlike anything else he had ever felt before. He felt slightly sleepy, his head heavy. He had all he ever wanted and more. But all he had to do first was to toss his wand up into the air. A small price to pay to stay somehow so delightful.

But a tiny voice at the back of his head urged him not to.  
_Why, why would you want to do something like that?  
_Harry hesitated. _Yes, why? How was it logical?_  
He did everything for a purpose. But he _wanted_ to throw his wand away. It was the perfect thing to do. It was the best thing to do.  
_But was it? _No, not really. Harry strained with all his willpower against the influence of the Imperius, and finally found himself weaseling out of its grasp.

The fifth year girl was now looking at him with something akin to amusement in her eyes. "You're not like the others," she said. "You're more. But I am more than more."

Afterwards, Harry learnt the Imperius had always been to test him, to toy with him. The blonde-haired girl considered herself above his capability. And perhaps she was right.

The moment she decided to stop playing and get on with things, Harry found himself bombarded by curses. Two slicing hexes caught him painfully on the arm. A dizzying hex tossed his mind out of balance. Another curse set a needle-like pain through his body.

He only managed to get her once. He ignited fire to her hair.

She had been furious, her already sharp features twisting angrily so that her eyes sparkled revenge. And revenge she had got.

She got another few spells through to Harry before finally tossing him bodily from the stage. He landed on the ground directly below the stage.

At first his mind couldn't register what had happened… and then he realised…

He was out of the competition.

And the girl with the platinum blonde hair was Astoria Greengrass' older sister whom he had seen during the Sorting. Her name was Daphne Greengrass.

And she battled her way up to the seventh year before defeating him too and taking her place as the winner.

* * *

**Sorry, I understand many of you may be disappointed at the conclusion of the competition, but I didn't think it would be realistic to portray as somebody who cannot be defeated.  
Anyway, I promise the next chapter will be good with plenty of action. It seems our main character may have caught the Dark Lord's unwanted attention again. Even if Daphne Greengrass now shares that attention.  
I personally think with Daphne Greengrass also a potential student, it may provide Harry with a bit of competition.**

**By the way, you have one of the guests to thank for the 'bleeding fool' comment. It was in one of my reviews.**

**Speaking of reviews...please review!**

**Review please!**


	16. Unlikely Saviour

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed my last chapter, who had stuck with me and who gave me a chance. I wish you all a very merry Christmas.**

**Corporal punishment and angst down below. If it isn't your ideal thing to read, you can skip this chapter.**

* * *

Harry watched numbly as Daphne Greengrass, with her beautiful pureblood etiquettes, walked on to the stage in the pale light and took Voldemort's hand gracefully.

Lord Voldemort's icy blue eyes glistened sharply as he took in everything about the girl, from her platinum blonde hair to her posture that flaunted power.

"Well done, Miss Greengrass. You did wonderfully," the Dark Lord remarked. "You've won. You've come through the _whole_ competition, defeated two students older than you and come out on top."

The audience was thrilled, watching and waiting as the Dark Lord congratulated the victor.

"Thank you, my lord," replied Daphne Greengrass smoothly. "I'm honoured."

Voldemort smiled, genuinely, and kissed her on the wrist. Despite herself, Greengrass blushed.

"Without any means to boast, I am the most powerful Dark Lord ever known to history and yet… here I stand, deeply impressed by your undeniably lovely performance."

"Thank you, my lord," she repeated.

Lord Voldemort placed a casual hand on her shoulder, eyes drinking her up as if she was the brightest jewel he had ever seen. "Now…about your prize…"

Harry could see Daphne Greengrass stiffening with uncontainable excitement. He knew for sure the prize was bound to be huge. It _had_ to be, for the Dark Lord to personally award it.

"Seeing as you already are a prefect, the bathroom rights may mean nothing to you." The Dark Lord smirked in good humour. "Do not worry. I have something better. Something you'll never expect."

He turned to the audience again. "As I have said before: tonight is history, but I never explained why. I do hope it is not too late."

He spread his hands apart. "I would like to think that everything bloomed from my new goal. What use is power when you have reached the ultimate level? My new goal is to train someone whom I tutor, thus passing on a bit of my power. I had been scouring the nation for a child…a child with unmatchable potential. And I daresay I have found her tonight…"

Harry saw Bellatrix in the shadows, her eyes bright and excited as she smirked at Snape who glared ferociously at her.

"Tonight, I shall take up Miss Daphne Greengrass, winner of the duelling competitions as my apprentice. It is not only a reward for her. After the headaches of my long search, I am happy to declare I have finally received my own reward as well."

Absolute silence. Absolute ringing silence.

Daphne Greengrass' neat composure gave way to disbelief. It was all too clear on her expression.

The audience was stunned. All of them. Every single person.

At the staff table, Professor McGonagall's face darkened into one of such, uncontrollable rage; she looked like she wanted nothing more to storm up and curse the daylights out of the Dark Lord. Darn the consequences.

Professor Sprout was clasping McGonagall's arm so tightly that the Gryffindor Head's teeth clinched in pain. Professor Flitwick was also restraining her, his tiny hands gripping frantically at her robes.

Harry's own eyes were wide. His hands were clinging onto the back of the seat in front of him so strongly that his knuckles all turned white.

Being Voldemort's apprentice had been the ultimate prize? And Greengrass was now, officially, the apprentice to the most powerful wizard of all time?

It was all so very unbelievable. To think that the place could have been his… he shuddered.

Harry took several deep breaths in an attempt to slow his racing heart. As if Voldemort controlling Hogwarts wasn't enough, his own apprentice was actually a student at Hogwarts.

The only two people that looked unsurprised were Professor Snape and Bellatrix. Snape, however, looked incredibly frustrated.

"Tonight, the whole school has heard the news. Tomorrow, the entire press and media will be printing it as the head page all over the country. And by the end of next week, Miss Daphne Greengrass will be leaving Hogwarts to study with me."

And that was how the evening concluded. Somehow, Harry still couldn't wrap the news around his head.

* * *

"What's with all the trunks?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Professor, why do you have so many trunks out?"

Snape stopped for a moment to regard Harry who was looking at him expectantly. Finally, he answered quietly, "I'm leaving, Potter."

"_What?!_" Harry's voice immediately rose. "Are you kidding me?"

"Watch your tone with me," warned Snape. "I'm completely serious."

"But _why?_" Harry spluttered. "And why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because, you are a despicable brat and I didn't want to tell you," Snape snapped sarcastically. "Obviously, I did not find out myself until a few days back, right after the duelling competitions. It's the Dark Lord's orders that I packed immediately. Bellatrix is also leaving."

"How will we learn potions then without a potions teacher?"

"There'll be temporary Professors hired to fill both our spots."

"Why so sudden, though?" probed Harry. "It's not like there's anything urgent. Besides, don't you have your daily lives other than being at _his_ service all the time?"

Snape ignored the jab at Voldemort. "The Dark Lord requested that Bellatrix and I teach his new apprentice when he himself is unavailable. That way, he can ensure the speed of her progress."

"Oh," said Harry angrily. "So, basically he is willing to halt the learning of the entire school just so his new, precious little girl gets the best of everything?"

"Potter!" Snape roared. "What you say can easily be considered treacherous. Consider your words carefully _before_ you spew them out!"

Harry would never admit it, but he did not want Snape to leave. His own learning had improved remarkably quickly under the man's careful watch. And he had formed a soft spot for the wizard.

"Fine," Harry gritted out.

Snape sighed, and rubbed his temples. "To be honest, I don't…entirely agree with the Dark Lord's plans either…but it is not my place to criticise. I'll be leaving in four days."

"That's not…very long."

"Long enough for us to properly say our goodbyes," said Snape dryly. "When I am gone and nobody is watching you, do not get yourself into trouble. Do not do anything inappropriate. Or I will make sure you regret it when I come back."

The atmosphere suddenly turned very awkward.

"Right."

"I'll see you, Potter." It was a quiet dismissal.

With a mixture of sadness and frustration in his stomach, Harry left Snape's office and ran down the corridors, his vision blurred by the slight wetness in his eyes.

Despite all his other qualities, Harry was still a Slytherin. Slytherins either got what they wanted…or they'd look for revenge.

Apart from the faint reluctance in his mind, there was nothing else to restrain Harry. If Voldemort wanted Snape then he had to be prepared for a little bit of inefficiency.

Harry ran through the school, and up and down the stairs in search for Neville Longbottom. Within two hours, he was plotting side by side with the Hufflepuff.

* * *

"Excited?" Neville asked Harry, as he sent out the students in different directions.

"Definitely," he answered. "I can't wait to see their faces tomorrow."

Neville grinned. "Carrow's expression will be priceless."

"Do you think they'll search for the culprits?" he asked.

"Yeah. Doubt they'll search _that_ hard though. They'll most likely give up after a few days. We don't leave that much evidence."

Harry chewed on this information. "And the paint you usually use is easy to rub off?"

Neville nodded.

He smirked. "Well, I think they'll find cleaning up a lot more difficult this time."

"Let's go over our plan again… Alicia and Damon both head for the corridors. They act first, painting graffiti insults," said Neville. "After that, our second group; Laura, Abigail, Eric and Sophie, will decorate the bathrooms. It'll take them at least forty minutes to complete everything; there are a lot of toilets in this castle."

"And when everyone else gets back, it's our turn," Harry cut in. "We do the great hall."

Neville gave him the thumbs up.

"Any chance of them catching us?" asked Harry.

"Well…there's always a risk. But this is the middle of the night. Does Carrow strike you as the type that would eagerly patrol the school every night?"

"We have to take extra precautions," Harry reminded the Hufflepuff. "A quarter of Dumbledore's Army is out here tonight. I also have a feeling the Death Eaters will try harder to catch us tomorrow. After all, you said you've never done graffiti in such large masses, all over the school. And never with this type of magical paint."

"Fingers crossed everything goes smoothly."

They waited in the darkness for nearly an hour before the six students finally came back. One of the boys was grinning broadly. "Mission success. Carrow will have a heart attack tomorrow."

One of the girls smiled shyly at Harry. "Your idea was superb. They'll have a _really_ hard time getting the messages off."

Harry smirked again. "Shame on them."

Neville congratulated them joyfully. Everyone was in such high spirits.

Afterwards, Harry and Neville set off to the great hall.

They hesitated at the staircase. However, when they stepped on it and no alarms came on, they grew bolder.

The paintings around them were all asleep, but even if they had been awake they wouldn't have done anything about the two boys. These portraits had considered this castle home for decades and more; they were loyal to Hogwarts, not to deatheaters. Although there were some new portraits that would not hesitate in reporting Harry and Neville to Bellatrix, they weren't the ones that surrounded the two boys.

Sneaking into the great hall didn't take long. Soon they were standing below the sky-high ceilings.

The hall, which had seemed so colourful and happy during the day now seemed old and dull from the lack of light.

Oh well. The walls would be flooding with colours soon enough.

"Harry, I'll take the left side. The right side is yours."

It was obvious that Neville was familiar with this process. He brandished his wand, took one amused look at the bare wall, and started writing.

Rainbow paint danced across the walls, curving into the bubbly, artistic letters of graffiti. Harry marvelled at the sight.

It was beautiful. Red paint streamed out and planted itself next to the purple. Blue paint mixed itself with yellow.  
Without delay, the rest of the colours came alive, flinging themselves about like gymnasts, performing swirls and somersaults and little tricks Harry had never observed.  
Purple exploded out of nowhere, black swarmed over the edges.

Suddenly Harry couldn't wait to start on his own wall.

What would he write? Abruptly an idea came to him. Wonderful, just wonderful. It was so befitting.

By the time he was done, it would be a masterpiece.

And it turned out it was.

"I'm finished, Harry," Neville called out.

"Really? Let me take a look. I'm done too."

Taking one peek at Neville's wall, he gasped out in delight. "Professor Carrow, we all sprung from apes but facts prove you didn't spring far enough," he read.

Harry cracked up laughing like a hyena. "Oh, Neville! That is so wicked! She is going to be very, _very_ angry!"

The moment he started laughing, he couldn't stop. The more he thought about the message the funnier it seemed.

When Harry finally got his breath back, he grinned at Neville. "You are a genius, have I ever told you that?"

Neville smiled slyly. "If the students tomorrow are going to read this, we might as well let them laugh a little."

"Come read mine."

Neville went.

At first he seemed amused, but the further he read, the smaller his grin got, until it was replaced by a worried frown.

"So what do you think?"

Neville sent him a panicked look. "Oh my god, Harry!" he whispered. "Are you…are you _mad?_"

"Well," Harry chuckled. "Not since I last checked." His chuckles faded when Neville did not join in. "What's the problem?"

Neville gulped fearfully. "Harry…Harry, you can't be _that_ oblivious. You haven't just insulted _anyone_. You've insulted _Voldemort!"_

"Yeah…so…?"

"Bellatrix and Carrow are _never_ going to stop until they hunt down the person who did this and give him the punishment of his life. They'll be after your skin like two savage dogs! You're signing your own death warrant, Harry!"

"I don't think it's going to be that severe –"

"_It is!_ Believe me, it is. You have no idea how cruel they can be. Do you _want_ them to curse you until you're half dead?"

"We have to make sure they won't find us, then," said Harry brightly. He understood the risks completely.

Obviously insulting Voldemort himself would be more dangerous than insulting anyone else. But it everything went to plan, they wouldn't find him in the first place. Harry couldn't see why Neville was so worried.

"_Harry!_" Neville sounded like he was half in tears. "Clearly, you don't understand the severity of what you've done."

"You're right. I don't."

"Do you know who Bellatrix is? She is Voldemort's top lieutenant, his most loyal top-dog. He is her obsession. She's literally going to rip you apart when she finds this out."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"And have you forgotten Carrow? She is the Headmistress. Think about how useless she'd feel if Bellatrix came up with a harsher punishment than her? _Think_, Harry. If she didn't come up with something harsher, Voldemort may think she was taking this issue too lightly and get offended. Do you really think she's going to risk that? She'd _kill _you first before she'd allow that to happen!"

"Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd be so upset about it," Harry said.

"_Please_," Neville hissed. "Use your head."

Harry was taken aback. The Hufflepuff had never struck him as the wounding type.

"Get rid of it quickly! Have you _thought_ about the consequences? What if Voldemort himself sees this? He'll personally torture you. Imagine that. Or worse, he'll _kill_ you."

"Umm…okay…" he muttered reluctantly, and picked up his wand.

No sooner had he done that did the loud sounds of pattering feet come from above them. It grew louder and louder until Harry feared it was only a couple of seconds before…

Neville froze, his eyes wide with fear. "They're coming! We have to go! _Now!_"

Harry was about to run after Neville, but he suddenly stopped in his tracks. "No, you go," he called.

"What?" Neville gasped. "Are you insane? You don't have _time_ to clear your message off! Let's go!"

Harry remained stubborn.  
"They'll come after us if they don't find anyone here. We won't even make it to the dormitories. They'll catch both of us! If I stay here, you'll have more time. It's better that they'd catch one person than two," he shouted.

"No way. You don't know what you're saying!"

"I do. I'm responsible for that message anyway." Harry gestured at the wall.

"But they'll blame the _whole entire thing_ on you! The whole bloody thing, not just _your_ message! You'll never survive this."

Harry smiled grimly. "I doubt it'll come to anything as serious as death. And if they want to blame me…so be it. It's better than them tracking the whole DA."

Neville hesitated still, his face a picture of pain. He was torn between morality and logic. "If you have to face torture, I should face it with you."

Harry snarled. "What is the problem with you Hufflepuffs? Have you no sense of self-preservation?"

Neville have a bitter laugh.

"Look, you're the DA's leader! Without their leader, the whole organisation will fall to pieces, all that you've worked for. You've managed so long without me. Will your DA members forgive you? You have to run for them if not for yourself. Go, just _go! _Or it'll be too late."

Neville took one long, sad look back at Harry. His logic had squashed down his emotions. "Good luck," he said. "I hope I'll see you again. Thank you."

Harry smiled in reply as Neville darted through the doors. All he had to do now was to wait.

Waiting was hard. He was tempted to run after Neville; he still stood a chance of outrunning the deatheaters. But he fought that urge. He would only have to wait for a few minutes at most.  
It turned out that those minutes were longer than a century.

Inwardly, he dreaded what would happen next. He had not been concerned because he had not known, before, that he would be caught.

Harry looked at Neville's message. A terrible insult at Carrow. Suddenly it didn't seem so funny anymore. It was almost like a string of words condemning him to even harsher punishment.

And what if Carrow herself was coming down? What if Voldemort came down with her? Harry shook slightly; he could just imagine the cold anger on Carrow's face as she read Neville's message.

She'd then ask him whether he wrote it…and Harry planned to say 'yes'. He would be dooming himself, but what other options did he have? Betray the DA?  
No, never.

Just as he came to this resolute thought, the doors of the great hall slammed open to reveal two figures dressed in black.

One of them was Carrow and the other one was Bellatrix. Two of the most savage deatheaters advanced towards Harry with their wands raised dangerously.

Bellatrix threw her head up, scanned the wall nearest to her and took in the insult directed at Carrow. "Oh, Alecto read this," she grinned maliciously. "Professor Carrow, we all sprung from apes but facts prove you didn't spring far enough."

Carrow's face darkened like a looming storm, her face contorted hatefully as she glared at Harry with so much loathing that Harry took a step back. "What a…daring thing to say. And you are supposed to be a Slytherin, Potter? I sense no attempt at preserving yourself…"

Harry closed his eyes for a few seconds and tried to keep his composure. The threat in Carrow's words was not even counted as veiled; she was threatening him outright.

"You did write it, didn't you, Potter?" Bellatrix demanded.

"Look at him!" Carrow said vindictively. "Out of bed and prowling the great hall with his wand out!" She gestured furiously at the wooden stick clutched in Harry's right hand. "Do you think it's a mere coincidence that the walls are painted with…with _these_?"

Despite himself, Harry felt fairly scornful at how Carrow could not find the poise to refer to the insults as nothing but '_these_'.

Carrow stormed up to Harry and jabbed her wand underneath his chin while Bellatrix looked on with wicked amusement. She didn't seem to mind the insult directed at Carrow at all; in fact, she seemed to be having fun at the Headmistress's expense.

Harry stiffened as he felt the cold pressure on his throat; he swallowed uncomfortably, grimacing as Carrow dug her wand even harder into his skin.

"Tell the truth, Potter, or I'll force it out of you," Carrow hissed. "I know you did it."

Harry licked his upper lip, and with an unbelievable coolness, he gently brushed the wand to the side, away from his jaw. "Don't fret, Headmistress. I never said I didn't do it," he replied evenly, deliberately maintaining the casual tone of his voice.

The very next second, something solid collided unforgivingly with his cheek – creating a resounding whack that echoed across the empty hall – and he was suddenly lurching to the side, staggering to regain his footing.

Carrow, in all her sneering ugliness, was looming over him in spite of her shortness. "Watch your tongue, boy, don't make your fate worse for yourself. You've just confessed to your crimes which, I assure you, you will be rightfully punished for."

Harry collected himself and straightened, letting his arms fall to his sides; determined to ignore the tenderness of his inflamed cheek. "What crimes?" he asked innocently.

Carrow's teeth made a horrible grinding sound. "The violation of school rules, breaking curfew, damage to school property, disruption of the school system and blatant disrespect towards members of the staff."

Harry had been about to give a snarky reply, but Bellatrix had already cut in front of him.

"Alecto, calm down. You're making a fool of yourself," said Bellatrix sneeringly. "These insults can be easily erased –"

"These are lies!" Carrow spat out. It seemed that the graffiti had hit her fairly hard; she was seething.

Bellatrix jeered, "More like the truth. The boy merely stated the truth."

Speechless, Harry looked from one female to the other. Bellatrix's eyes glistened wildly, the only hint that she savoured from Carrow's lost dignity, while the Headmistress spluttered for breath. It didn't particularly seem like they were fond of one another.

"You, you - !"

Laughing openingly, Bellatrix stored her wand back into her sleeve. "Come, Alecto, it is late. We all ought to get back to bed. Tomorrow we'll assign Mr Potter a couple of detentions with Snape."

"What?" Carrow ogled like a dumbfounded parrot. "We're letting him get away with this? Tell me, is this setting a fine example for the other students? Rule-breaking equals a lack of discipline, discipline we provide them."

"How is detention 'getting away with this'?" Bellatrix said coldly. "Unless you're suggesting something else?"

Harry gaped at the deatheaters. He simply couldn't believe his ears, or rather, his luck. He was going to be let off with only a few detentions and a bruised cheek. This…this turn of events was amazing.

If Harry did manage to get away with this, he would have to remember to go and thank Neville for painting that message. Bellatrix was helping him for her own reasons, essentially as a method to aggravate Carrow – she really _did_ seem to detest the Headmistress.

"The Cruciatus and a few nights in the dungeons seem fitting," said Carrow quickly.

"Forgive me if I personally don't agree," came the delicate reply.

"I'm the Headmistress and you are a mere Professor!"

Bellatrix glanced at Carrow. "And who do you assume holds more power? Who do you assume is in the Dark Lord's favour?"

"Potter painted the whole entire school!"

There was no response from Bellatrix.

She was staring in astonishment at the other graffiti. Harry's graffiti.

Harry's heart stopped thumping for a moment as Bellatrix's eyes widened until it seemed they would pop out of their sockets. Her jaw dropped in an almost comical way.

"Bellatrix? Do _not_ ignore me," Carrow commanded irately. "What is it?"

Bellatrix turned around, and Harry could see her face was dark with unmatchable rage. Her hooded eyes flashed dangerously as she scrutinised him. Her lips twisted into a cruel leer. She looked alarmingly implacable as she bared her teeth at Harry.

"Bellatrix?"

The witch ignored Carrow, giving Harry her unwavering focus.

"You did it, did you not?"

Harry flinched and involuntarily took a step back. Bellatrix seemed more relentless than Carrow ever could hope to be. This wasn't just a dark witch teaching muggle studies.

This was the top-lieutenant whom had murdered hundreds while battling by the Dark Lord's side. Harry was powerless against her; he was nothing. If she wanted to…

In a flurry of dark hair and black robes, Bellatrix had launched herself at Harry, flying towards him like a king cobra in her venomous fury and knocked him heavily to the ground with her full weight.

One moment Harry was standing and the next, his head clouted on the floor. He wheezed dazedly, blinking up at Bellatrix whose daunting face hovered only a few centimetres from his.

"You insolent little wretch!" she hissed. "You rotten little rat! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Carrow was staring curiously at the two of them.

"Not – nothing," Harry choked out, gasping as Bellatrix rammed her elbow into his chest.

"I'll make you beg for mercy on your knees soon enough, if you do not die before that."

Harry struggled for breath as Bellatrix heaved him up by his collar. "You have such daring, such spirit. I'll look forward to crushing it."

Harry's head crunched back and he collapsed in yet another embrace with the floor as Bellatrix drew her hand back and dealt him a blow.

Carrow was observing all of this with a merciless grin of delight on her face. She was finally getting her revenge.

Lying face down with his body at an unnatural angle, Harry coughed.

"The Dark Lord shall hear about this…" Bellatrix said. "How dare you taint his great name with your filthy little message?" Her voice was thick with passion for her lord.

"With the 'your family tree should be a cactus because you are such a prick' comment, I doubt the Dark Lord will be extremely pleased," Carrow put in.

"Of course he will not be," snapped Bellatrix.

Harry was only too aware of his vulnerable state as the seconds ticked past and Bellatrix grew more and more furious. Somehow it reminded of the awful situation Ollivander had been in.

"I think a punishment is in order," said Carrow fervently, leering.

"Hmm…" came Bellatrix's answer.

Harry could only think of it as an agreement. His stomach clenched tightly, his bravado tickling away from him little by little.

"I think a few well-chosen curses and a few nights in the cells can cure Potter of his unfortunate rudeness and his tendency of breaking rules," suggested Carrow. "Of course we can only be –"

"I think," interrupted Bellatrix roughly, "we should do two things. Number one is to bring this matter forth to the Dark Lord and let him punish Potter himself. Number two is to decide a suitable punishment for Potter if the Dark Lord refuses to humour us."

Harry's jaws clamped together. Things weren't going to be pretty with Voldemort involved. He willed his body to force itself into a sitting position.

Bellatrix reacted with lightning fast speed and the next moment, Harry found her dragon heartstring wand pointed at him. "Don't move," she warned darkly.

"I won't," he muttered dryly.

"Then, if the Dark Lord doesn't want to waste his time punishing Potter, how should we punish him?"

An eerie glow came over Bellatrix's face and she smiled slightly as she answered, "I usually find pain mixed with humiliation to be the best type of punishment for offenders."

Harry stilled, sensing the unpleasant prospect.

"I say we deliver a public whipping in front of the school," said Bellatrix. "One doesn't just insult the Dark Lord and get away with it."

* * *

"Your fate awaits you in the morning."

With that, Harry was tossed into his cell and the door slammed close with a bang. He got to his knees and edged towards the darkest corner. He didn't want to be easily reached from the outside.

The floor was damp and moist, with a smell of decayed wood. There was no visible windows, no light. The air was slightly stifling and exceptionally cold. And the quiet scuffling of possible rats invaded Harry's sense of privacy.

He was downright miserable. It was stupid. He had gone through so much trouble to take revenge… but at what cost?  
A public whipping? Corporal punishment? Death?

Presently, he was more worried about the humiliation than the pain. Harry could imagine it: him bending over with the whip slashing down while thousands of students played spectators. It would be a nightmare, a major degradation to his pride.

_Malfoy would be delighted_, he thought bitterly, _so would Carrow_. He almost wanted Voldemort to punish him instead.

How would Snape react when he learned of Harry's midnight adventure? Angry, frustrated, cheesed off, most likely.

Looking at the rusting iron bars, Harry wondered if he could break himself out. The tentacles of his magic flowed forward to melt the iron. When the two met, nothing happened. How disappointing.

Whatever his fate, he could only wait for dawn to approach.

* * *

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, my lord…"

Voldemort waved dismissively. "I do not need as much sleep as the average person, but I cannot help but wonder what you want so early in the morning. It is only five."

"Last night, a student was found painting graffiti all over the school in the middle of the night. He'd painted all over the school and with paint almost impossible to get rid of."

Voldemort raised a scornful eyebrow. "A common crime… and how does that concern me? Do not tell me you do not know how to clean the paint."

Bellatrix cleared her throat nervously. "No, my lord, it's not that. The boy painted an insulting comment directed at you, my lord."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed instantly. "How…foolishly brave. Does he not know there will be consequences?"

"Do you want to punish him yourself, my lord… or should we deal with him?"

"I'm too busy to discipline any student while my apprentice is still uneducated. How do you intend on fulfilling justice?"

"A public whipping."

"Really?" Voldemort's eyes sparkled in interest. "I've never heard of one of those at Hogwarts."

"Nobody had dared to insult you, my lord, until last night…" said Bellatrix. "Do you approve?"

"It's certainly very imaginative. And the whole school will be present? Yes? Then I do not see why I should not be there to watch too."

* * *

The door slammed open again, a figure came in and Harry was kicked awake. It was Bellatrix.

"It's eight in the morning, Potter. Time for the show. We wouldn't want to keep everyone waiting."

"What?" he said sleepily.

"You'll be whipped publically as the Dark Lord is not willing to give up his own time to correct your actions," said Bellatrix. "Every student is gathered in the school hall, awaiting your entrance. Even the Dark Lord will be joining us later."

He immediately was wide awake. "So early?" he asked in disbelief.

"You don't set the time, Potter, I do. Get up!"

Harry was jerked up by his collar and sent stumbling towards the door by a snarling Bellatrix. She pushed him out of his cell with the tip of her wand tucked at the back of his neck. "Get going. Not fully awake yet? Don't worry, you soon will be. I wonder what would happen when Professor Snape sees you like this; he has been informed of your misdeeds."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "_He_'s going to be there?"  
If there was one thing Harry did not want Snape to see, it was him in his most defenceless state.

"Shut up and get going."

Moments later, they arrived at the school hall, jam packed with anxious students. As he and Bellatrix proceeded to the front, Harry saw the scared face of Neville Longbottom peek out at him.

Snape was sitting alongside the rest of the staff, the skin of his face drawn rigid. Professor McGonagall was sitting beside him with a look of cold fury to rival Bellatrix's. The rims of Professor Sprout's eyes were red, seemingly resulted from tears shed.

There was one other person who Harry was searching for, and he wasn't there… yet. Bellatrix had said Voldemort would be joining them later.

Harry was led to the front where Carrow took over and Bellatrix went to sit down with the other Professors.

He was directed to stand beside Carrow who, seeming the picture of sternness, looked harshly forward and addressed the crowd in her scratchy voice. "The child standing next to me, while only eleven, has broken more than half of the school rules in the time of only one night. You may recognise and perhaps even admire him, from the duelling competitions… however not even becoming the winner could save him from paying for the offences he committed."

Harry stiffened. What a way to launch his humiliation; by bringing up his triumph at the competitions. It was ironic in all of the cruel ways.

"His name is Harry Potter, a member of Slytherin House. Here, I have a list of the misdeeds he performed…by coming out at midnight to graffiti on the walls around Hogwarts he had broken curfew, done considerable damage to school property, disrupted the school system thus the learning of his peers, shown blatant disrespect towards members of the staff – even going as far as suggesting they are as dim-witted as apes. Mr Potter had not only insulted important members of our school but also important figures in the society including one of our most welcome guests."

Professor McGonagall's face was now the colour of thunder while Snape seemed oddly unmoved, looking impassive. Bellatrix was smirking wildly at Snape while he ignored her unaffectedly.

"The paint Mr Potter used was of the lowest of trick magic, and therefore, was almost impossible to clean off. This not only caused damage to school property but also took up time from both myself and Professor Lestrange. We admit we have spent the entire night attempting to clear the hallways of the foul messages. Looking from the viewpoint of a disappointed and concerned Head, and regarding the severity of these crimes, we have decided to administer a legal and public whipping – the first in all of Hogwarts' history. Being Headmistress, I will be the one to deliver the thirteen strokes we are intending to give out."

There was an emotional outburst from the audience. Protests rang out from every direction, but Carrow took no notice.

"Mr Potter, if you will cooperate you may receive a lighter punishment. If you resist however…" Carrow gave him a meaningful look. "Please remove your cloak and bend over with your fingertips touching your toes."

Reluctantly, under the watch of the whole school, Harry slowly untied his cloak and handed it over to Carrow. Flushing, he bent just as Carrow had instructed.

He touched his toes easily, but the position he was in was uncomfortable. He doubted he would be able to maintain it for too long.

"During the punishment, you will not move from that position until we are finished. If you fall off balance you earn yourself an extra lash."

Carrow conjured herself a slick black whip out of thin air, flicking it to adapt to the feel. Harry glimpsed it from over his shoulder. It was long and smooth-looking, surprisingly elegant for something used in the common crafts of discipline.

"Brace yourself, Potter," said Carrow. Her face was hard, set in focused lines. Harry couldn't help but wonder how much strength she had in her arms. She'd be lashing at her full energy, he was sure.

Harry felt a slight pain in his legs and wobbled. It would be impossible to maintain that position during a whipping.

He wasn't even prepared for the first whiplash. It took him entirely by surprise and literally took his breath away. Harry instantly felt a sudden crack of sharp, intense pain, and then it blossomed into an immense burning feeling. He felt as though someone had taken a hot poker and pressed it deeply to his bare skin. It _hurt_.

Harry's whole body shook uncontrollably, all his nerves tensed.

"One," Carrow counted coolly. "Twelve more to go."

His palms were sweating and his hands were slipping. The position he was in was not only painful but also gave Carrow full access to his helplessness. Harry knew it would happen before it did.

The whip sliced through the air easily with a quiet_ whoosh_. And then an ear-splitting _crack_ as it met its target.

Pain. Angst. Harry faltered, falling to the ground where he writhed in desperation. It was becoming unbearable and it was only the second blow. He knew he had severely underestimated the potential pain.  
It stung so harshly that he wondered whether he was already starting to bleed.

"Get up, Mr Potter. You've just earned one additional lash," said Carrow.

With a tiring effort, Harry managed to hoist himself from the ground.

"Bend."

Teeth gritting, he bent down into his old position again. It stretched his skin, bringing down new waves of pain. He hated Carrow. He hated what was happening to him.

Carrow raised her whip again but it never came down. There was a new presence in the hall.

"Oh no," Lord Voldemort smiled. "Continue, _please_. Do not let me interrupt you."

Gracefully, the Dark Lord walked to sit with the rest of the staff. Eyes sparkling with entertainment, he cast a casual glance at the disciplinarian and the offender.

Harry saw Voldemort's eyes widen in surprise. Voldemort turned to whisper a few words into Bellatrix's ear.

Carrow lifted her wand high above her head and drew it down, at full speed, in a brutal stroke. _Crack!_  
Harry gasped, feeling unwanted wetness prickling his eyes. He swayed, tipping slightly forward. He was overwhelmed by the never-ending sting that only increased in volume through every hit. The leather cut cruelly into his skin, despite his robes. Harry saw a small trickle of red blood land on the ground beneath him. It was his blood. He knew Carrow would want to make him bleed…but when would the chastisement cease? Surely not after another eleven more?

Everything came at a price. Harry was paying for insulting Voldemort.

_Swish!_ The whip swiped through the air for the fourth time in a row, the black leather glistening. As it came gashing at Harry, ripping his skin, Harry couldn't contain himself anymore. He let out a strangled cry, only just succeeding in keeping his balance. He knew he wasn't coping well.

Carrow sneered, bringing the whip up again. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the pain to come any minute.

"That's enough."

The glacial voice spoke authoritatively, daring anyone to disagree. The superior undertone caught Harry's attention at once.

Carrow tossed the whip away from her as far as she could, freezing when the speaker gazed aloofly at her. She dared not proceed, not when the Dark Lord had spoken.

"He's had enough. He has learned a great many things from this valuable lesson." Lord Voldemort hesitated. "I trust he will not commit the same transgressions again."

Harry looked, flabbergasted, as the Dark Lord vouched for him. Did this mean he was free of any more punishment? He was dumbstruck by the unlikely turn of events.

"Clean him up a little and make sure he arrives in my office in one hour's time. I need to speak to him."


	17. To Accept An Apprenticeship

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**I want to thank everyone for every review I've got so far, and to thank those who read but didn't review. Hope you have a good holiday! **

* * *

_"He's had enough. He has learned a great many things from this valuable lesson." Lord Voldemort hesitated. "I trust he will not commit the same transgressions again."_

_Harry looked, flabbergasted, as the Dark Lord vouched for him. Did this mean he was free of any more punishment? He was dumbstruck by the unlikely turn of events._

_"Clean him up a little and make sure he arrives in my office in one hour's time. I need to speak to him."_

* * *

Carrow took another nervous glance at Harry, her pupils swaying from left to right, looking considerably shaken.

"Students, you are all to leave the hall in the space of a minute. Staff members, you are to do the same."  
Bellatrix, a little more uncertain in her movements than usual, quickly cleared the hall.

Harry saw Snape get up stiffly and without even taking a look at him, he walked briskly out the door – followed by the other Professors apart from one Transfiguration teacher.

McGonagall lingered behind, the deep frown on her face more intimidating than ever. She kept casting concerned glances at Harry, who still stood at the front with a blank mask pulled over his face to cover his pain.

"Professor McGonagall, I can only ask you to leave," stated Bellatrix.

The Gryffindor Head took a deep breath, and her expression grew ever severer – as if to prepare herself for a giant lecturing outbreak. But she seemed to change her mind at the last minute, going for the wiser decision. "By the earlier orders of the Dark Lord, Mr Potter has to be cleaned up. I think I am up to the job," she said firmly.

Carrow, adopting a skittish expression, didn't say anything; it was Bellatrix who replied, "That will not be necessary. We can manage on our own perfectly fine."

"Are you quite sure?" inquired McGonagall, in a sweet tone. "What if your naturally rough handlings result in further pain on Mr Potter's part? Especially when the Dark Lord himself had forbidden you to harm him?"

With her nostrils flaring in suppressed anger, she delivered the threat with a practised expertise. Even Bellatrix looked a little unsure.

"Very well. If you wish to take him from our hands, you may. However, you alone are responsible for Mr Potter's well-being," Bellatrix answered.

Harry scoffed lightly. As if Bellatrix actually cared about his well-being. It made him feel more comfortable knowing McGonagall was now looking after him.

"Here, Mr Potter. You can walk? Yes? Good. Go and get a clean set of robes from your dormitory." Ignoring the two deatheaters present, McGonagall stretched out an arm towards Harry and guided him out of the hall.

* * *

"I will leave you here, Mr Potter. If you are in need of any assistance after the conference with Lord Voldemort, please do not hesitate to find me," said McGonagall.

Harry knew she was unhappy about the notion of him spending such a long time with Voldemort, and the possibility that he would curse Harry out of personal revenge.

"Okay," he agreed. Inwardly, he was not feeling so confident; he still had no idea why Voldemort had chosen to spare him. The dark wizard did everything for a purpose, and the thought unnerved Harry.

He lifted a hand to the door of Voldemort's office – shuddering at what awaited him – and knocked lightly.

McGonagall gave him a last encouraging smile and left.

"Come in."

Nervously, Harry opened the door and stepped inside the dim room. Voldemort was waiting for him in one corner with half his face in the shadows.

"Good morning," Harry said in a low tone. From what he could see of Voldemort's expression, he wasn't angry.

"Good morning, Mr Potter," replied the Dark Lord smoothly, stepping towards him.

Harry shrank back slightly, intimidated by the dark wizard's presence.

"I would normally offer you a seat – I am not a discourteous man…" said Voldemort. "But I know you will be in severe discomfort, especially after this morning's drama."

Harry blushed. "Thank you." The words felt false and sour on his tongue, but he couldn't think of anything else polite to say.

"I can see the discipline has indeed taken its toll on you. You're not half as rude as you were. I mean this as a compliment."

"Yes, my lord." Harry took it as an insult but it was better to throw in these respectful titles, just to be on the safe side.

Voldemort sighed lightly. "Will you tell me exactly what you wrote about me? Bellatrix is too frightened to repeat the graffiti. I will not take offense."

Harry stiffened. Voldemort's promises were fickle, but to decline would bring more trouble. "Your family tree should be a cactus because you're such a prick."

To his surprise, the Dark Lord chuckled lightly. "It's not that bad. Bellatrix took it too seriously."

Harry guessed he was referring to the night before when Bellatrix had told him about himself.

There were a few moments of silence when Harry did not know what to say. He felt a creeping sensation of disquiet, being in the same room as Voldemort; he had a feeling this idle chat on the Dark Lord's part was only to install a false sense of security within him.

"Don't you want to know how you got caught?" Voldemort said. "One minute, you were painting in the great hall and the next… Bellatrix and Carrow."

Harry swallowed slowly, his eyes fixated on Voldemort's. "I do, but how would you know?" He immediately grimaced at the insolence.

The Dark Lord didn't seem to mind. "Because when Bellatrix came to me last night she told me that a spell triggered one of the personal alarms set around her room. Soundless to an outsider, but they alerted her. Apparently, a student had cast the silencing spell at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. That was what set Bellatrix and Carrow on your trail."

Harry nodded, feeling a faint spark of anger at the careless idiot who had activated Bellatrix's alarms.

"That was very nice duelling on your part at the competitions," Voldemort commented.

Disconcerted and bewildered at the sudden change of topic, he had a nervous feeling Voldemort was toying with him. "Thank you. I wasn't good enough, though," said Harry, modestly.

Voldemort's eyes suddenly glistened purposefully. "What is your definition of 'enough'?"

He frowned, unsure of how to answer the confusing question. "I don't know…to win the competition would be enough, I guess."

"Ah, to come out on top," said the Dark Lord knowingly. "What do you think of Miss Greengrass' performance? As in contrast to yours?"

Harry was growing more and more uneasy by the minute - these probing questions had a purpose; Voldemort was intentionally steering the conversation in the direction he wanted them to go. "She is powerful…worthy competition. Her footwork and reactions are amazing; she is experienced. I'm nothing compared to her," Harry said, cautiously.

"Yes, but you managed to hold your own against her for an admirable length of time. You even slipped past her shields and landed a hit. Would you say, with experience, you can exceed her?"

"No," said Harry firmly. Maybe he could, but he was determined not to let Lord Voldemort know.

"Have a little confidence in yourself, Mr Potter."

When Harry didn't reply, Voldemort's voice grew more velvety, "I suppose you're wondering why I spared you from your punishment?"

Harry's head jerked up in shock and he opened his mouth to reply.

"Hush." Voldemort pressed his cold wand against Harry's lips. "You don't need to answer."

Gulping at the intimate contact, Harry leaned back as far as he could without seeming ill-mannered.

"I had been the one to give Bellatrix the permission needed for such a severe whipping," said Voldemort, tone merciless. "By rights you should have been whipped until the skin was stripped off your back. If I hadn't stepped in."

Harry remained mute, eyes wide and unblinking. His whole body quivered as he stood, his back rigid.

"Sit down!" Voldemort snarled sadistically, gesturing at a wooden chair.

"But I –"

"I am perfectly aware," he sneered. "Sit!"

Reluctantly, Harry walked slowly towards the chair and planted himself delicately down. As his tender skin brushed against the wood, he let out a small gasp.

"I knew the child was eleven. I knew his price for insulting me would be weeks without restful sleep. I knew he would bleed and he would scream," said the Dark Lord calmly. "What I did not expect was seeing_ you_."

Harry flickered an eyelid.

"Seemingly, Bellatrix had forgotten to tell me _you_ had been the one to paint the graffiti, and _you_ were the one to be lashed. _You_ were the sole reason I stopped the punishment."

"_Why?_" Harry uttered. "Why _me?_"

"You have great potential that can be nurtured into great power. You have a natural talent when dabbling in the Dark Arts, you have beaten students years older than you, you excel in all your classes, you can be trained into a formidable figure in the wizarding world under my teachings," said Voldemort. "I want you to become my apprentice."

"_What?_" Harry yelped. "I thought Daphne Greengrass was your apprentice!"

Lord Voldemort smiled mockingly. "Can one master not have two apprentices?"

Harry knew he would not face likable consequences if he denied Voldemort, but there was no way in hell he could agree to this. He would never accept this apprenticeship, not even under torture. Becoming Voldemort's apprentice equalled betraying his own morality. He would become just as twisted and cruel as the renowned dark wizard; it was inevitable. No, no, anything but this.

Harry abandoned all efforts of remaining polite. "No."

"Would you like to repeat that?" said Voldemort dangerously.

"_No_. I said _no_."

The Dark Lord raised a taunting eyebrow. "You have no say in this."

"I. Will. Not. Become. Your. Apprentice," Harry gritted out.

"You can either accept this chance to learn from me or you can pick death. I'm sure Bellatrix will have a way of drawing your death out slowly; it's her area of expertise," said Voldemort lightly.

Harry hesitated. "You can't." He stared at Voldemort's punitive eyes in open scepticism.

"Can't kill you? I can."

There was a ringing silence.

"Trouble deciding? I'll give you something else to think about: when you painted the graffiti, you were not alone – I'm not an idiot – you were with several other students. Would you like me to look into your mind and pull out their names? I assure you they will get their rightful punishments," said the Dark Lord. "However, if you do agree to this apprenticeship, I promise I will turn a blind eye to all these illegal groups happening at Hogwarts. They serve as nothing but a minor irritation to me."

Harry gawped, interiorly going to pieces. He _knew_. Voldemort _knew_. Was there no secret one could keep from the Dark Lord?  
"I…" his voice cracked, "I can't…"

Voldemort scoffed. "Whose judgements are you scared of? McGonagall's? Your mudblood friend's?"

Harry bit his lip until he drew blood.

"If you do not agree to my conditions, you will die. Your friends who participated in resistance against my followers too shall fall. Only you can change that. Their lives are in your hands; one word from you determines whether they live."

A lust for Voldemort's blood settled in the pits of Harry's stomach. This couldn't be happening… His own future wasn't even his to handle. Which of the two options was more sinful? He couldn't possibly decline Voldemort's offer knowing people would die for him. And surely, it was better for him to live than die?

"This is blackmail," Harry stated. "I cannot_ believe_ you'd bend so low as to –"

"Silence," Voldemort ordered sharply. "Do not forget who you're speaking to."

Harry glared daggers at him, his emerald eyes shining a green fire as bright as the Killing Curse.

"Does this mean you'll accept my request?"

Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry bit out, "You're not giving me a choice."

A triumphant smirk drifted across Voldemort's handsome face as he entwined his fingers. "A wise choice, Potter. You'll leave with Daphne Greengrass, Professor Snape, Professor Lestrange and myself in three days' time for my manor. It'll be a good idea to start packing today."

Harry nodded grudgingly.

"Soon enough, you'll find being the apprentice to Lord Voldemort is not such a bad thing. There are many luxuries you can take pleasure from, which most wizards cannot even imagine."

* * *

"Hurry, Potter!" Snape hissed from the hallway. "I should have known you'd leave your packing till the last minute!"

Harry ignored his Professor and continued to stuff clothing and property into his trunk. In the Slytherin dorm, the Slytherins crowded around Harry – even the girls – and smothered him with words of farewell.

"Hey, Potter!" Blaise Zabini called. "Put in a good word for us in front of the Dark Lord, will you?"

"Harry, may I please have your autograph? Pretty please with cherries on top?" asked a Slytherin girl, waving a notepad excitedly in front of Harry.

"Uh…" Harry bent down to receive his black cloak. "Sorry…just wait…"

"Harry, come back and visit us sometime! Make sure you bring your mentor with you!" shrieked another girl.

"Have I met you before?" he stopped to ask, before fastening his cloak.

"Bye, Harry! Make sure you learn lots of magic tricks, and that you come back and teach us!"

In the most isolated corner of the dorm sat Draco Malfoy and a group of sullen Slytherins. "Didn't you know?" Malfoy sneered. "Old dogs can't learn new tricks, even with an excellent master."

"You're the same age as me, Malfoy!" Harry shouted before he ducked out of the dormitory, hauling his trunk after him.

"My, aren't you popular?" Snape smirked, walking at a brisk pace towards the stairs. "Are you not going to say goodbye to your devoted fans?"

Harry rubbed his temples in annoyance. "They're not _my_ fans. They're Voldemort's fans."

"Potter, you cannot continue calling your master 'Voldemort'. It'll get you in trouble sooner or later," said Snape, seriously.

He glared daggers at the Potions Master. "He's not my _master!_"

* * *

The moment they stepped outside, Harry saw a shiny black limousine parked on the lawn. "Whose is that?"

"It belongs to the Dark Lord."

Even if Snape had not answered, Harry still would have guessed; Voldemort had climbed gracefully out of the limo and was heading towards them. "You're late. Bellatrix is already here with my charge."

Snape inclined his head politely. "Forgive us, my lord. The packing took longer than intended."

Voldemort cast an eye over Harry in a critical way. "Make sure it does not happen again. Come, we must hurry."

Once they got into the limousine, Harry noticed an unfamiliar man in the driver's seat.

"That is my chauffeur and bodyguard," Voldemort introduced.

Harry looked at the dark wizard incredulously, his jaws dropping. "Your bodyguard? Why would you need a bodyguard? Who on earth, in their maddest dreams, would dare to rob you?"

Voldemort chuckled softly. "No one I can think of, but having a bodyguard mixes well with the public image and media."

The car was fired up and the chauffeur steered it down the path and towards the gates.

Nonchalantly, Voldemort threw a glance at Harry. "Speaking of what mixes well with the media, I forgot to tell you: the moment this limousine passes the gates, Hogwarts' grounds, we're going to be swarmed by the media."

His words were proven true a moment later, when camera flashes blinded Harry from all sides, who instantly drew back from the window. "What's this?" he said anxiously.

Indeed, the limousine was driving slowly through a sea of cameras, photographic equipment and eager reporters who were waving frantically at them to stop.

"My lord," Snape delicately put in. "Perhaps with all your media attention and your apprentices' inexperience with the public, it may not be the best idea to stop."

"Drive on!" Voldemort ordered the chauffeur. "But slowly enough for the photos to be taken."

* * *

It was late afternoon when they finally arrived at Voldemort's manor. A precious half-hour had been wasted by attempting to drive _slowly_ through the crowd of reporters. Not to mention that Voldemort, intent on gaining back the time they had lost, had commanded his chauffeur not to stop the car for rests, drinks, or even for the toilet.

To say Harry was in a grumpy mood had to be the biggest understatement of the year. He clambered clumsily out of the limo, dragging his heavy trunk after him, feeling the full scorch of the burning sun on his back. He glanced at Daphne Greengrass and Bellatrix. Bellatrix seemed to be in high spirits, contented that they were here while Greengrass' expression mirrored his own mood perfectly.

The Dark Lord, elegant as always, stepped out to join them, seeming completely unaffected by the heat. He strode towards the giant doors and tapped his wand on it three times. With a booming crunch, the doors opened to reveal the grandest corridor Harry had ever seen.

The small company followed Voldemort through the doors and into the hall. The hall was gigantic, rivalling Hogwarts' in all areas of magnificence; the sparkling chandeliers, the polished dance floors, the tables clothed in white… There was even an antique grandfather clock on the wall, which ticked to signal the start of six o' clock.

"Welcome to my humble manor," Voldemort said unhurriedly. "As we're quite late already, we shall have dinner at eight. Between now and eight, you're welcome to settle into your appointed bedrooms, take a shower, or ask the house elves for some needed refreshments."

He clicked his fingers. Immediately, four house elves in clean towels appeared out of thin air. "You will lead my guests into their bedrooms, where then you will do everything they ask. Go now."

Harry stared at the house elf that scuttled forward to greet him. It was small and wrinkly and had giant, endearing eyes that seemed ever so expressive. His house elf smiled lopsidedly at him and curtsied politely. "Hallo, Young Master," it squeaked. "My name is –"

"That's _enough!_" Voldemort whirled around, and coldly eyed the elf that had spoken to Harry. "Your job is not to pathetically engage Mr Potter in idle chatter, _nor_ to introduce yourself. My orders were perfectly clear."

Flustered, the elf scrambled to bow, before it turned to Harry and muttered, "Follow me, Young Master."

Harry threw a baleful glare back towards Voldemort who didn't even seem to notice it.

As they walked through the corridors, Harry tried to engross the little elf in a casual conversation. "What did you say your name was? I couldn't quite catch it," he asked kindly.

The elf put a finger to its lip and shook its small head agitatedly. "Master forbids Spookie from conversing! Spookie obeys!"

Harry smiled warmly. "So your name is Spookie?"

"Not conversing!"

He got no more responses from the elf after that. Sighing, Harry dismissed the little creature as soon as he was shown into his room. Voldemort had trained the house elves into obedient little servants that mindlessly did whatever he requested; there was no more point making the elf stay when it clearly did not want to.

Closing the door behind him, Harry got a first glimpse of his bedroom. It took his breath away. The splendour of the shining lattice windows beamed down as him while he quickly ran an eye over the white walls, bare but for a lone empty portrait hanging adjacent to the four-poster bed, bedded down with the finest eiderdown money could afford.

Unconsciously, he walked towards the alluring comfort of the sleeping furniture and ran a hand over the black satin drapes. It was smooth and cold to the touch, flowing like a black river under his fingertips.

Unable to resist the urge any longer, Harry collapsed on top of the bed after kicking off his shoes; he groaned in pleasure as he rubbed his face into the soft duvet. This could not be better.  
He tugged the black drapes free and drew them, letting darkness shroud himself. This really could not be better.

At least Voldemort had got one thing right – even if it was just his bed. Harry closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him.

After what seemed only like a few moments, a sharp sound made his eyes jerk open in alarm – he bolted forwards and yanked the curtains back.  
Harry scanned the room. Nothing, there was nothing. This was odd; he had been almost certain the sound had come from elsewhere in his bedroom… perhaps he had been dreaming.

"Hello. So you're his new apprentice."

Harry whirled around in shock.

"I'm over here," came the voice, amused.

It was the portrait. In what had been an empty, blank canvas now perched the depiction of a young boy only a few years older than Harry himself. "Hi," he said cautiously. "I'm Harry Potter."

The boy smirked. "I know your name. Lord Voldemort had all of us well-informed about the coming of his two new apprentices. Pleasure to finally see you for myself," he drawled. "I was away when you first came in."

Harry looked curiously at him. "You're not like the other paintings. At least not the ones I've seen around Hogwarts."

"I should hope not. I'm actually rather intelligent if you still can't tell by my looks."

Harry smiled a little at the boy's dry humour, but he had a point; his looks indeed portrayed him as an intelligent young man – glistening blue eyes, cultured ebony hair, and pale lips that quirked upwards into a perceptive smile. "What is your name? How old are you?" he asked.

"If you want to do business, you have to show your offer first. Tell me about yourself."

Harry was slightly taken aback. "Uh, alright… I'm a first year at Hogwarts, and I'm…um…really bad at making potions."

"What a poor attempt at introducing yourself, barely adequate." The boy looked at Harry in amusement. "Nonetheless, my name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I'm sixteen."

"Tom Riddle," murmured Harry, trying it. "It's very charming."

"In my opinion, it's rather common and dull but thank you."

"The 'Tom' part, perhaps." He grinned. "But definitely not your last name. Riddle… I've never actually heard anyone called that. I wonder if you're as much of an enigma as your name suggests."

"Some people would regard me as complicated… but I'm not a mystery; everyone thinks they have me figured out. No, I'm not a mystery – at least not one such as yourself."

"Me, a mystery?"

"Hmm, even Lord Voldemort cannot predict your next move."

Harry shrugged. "Say," he started, "have you been in this manor long? Do you have a life outside of this painting?"

Tom mirrored his shrug. "I suppose I've called this frame home for many, many years. As for your second question, if you mean whether I'm still alive, I can confidently say I am."

He nodded in satisfaction at Tom's answer. "Do I know you in real life? You look like someone I've seen. I just can't put my finger on it."

Tom looked faintly surprised. "I honestly don't think so," he said.

"How did you end up here?" asked Harry. "Why would Voldemort –"

"The Dark Lord wanted to preserve my youth…despite how much he loathes the very mention of my name."

"Okay. Are you –?"

"It's nearly eight," Tom interrupted. "Don't you need to prepare for your dinner? Lord Voldemort doesn't forgive lateness."

"Oh," said Harry, "okay. Do you know where I can shower?"

"Just step outside your bedroom and open the door of the room to your right," Tom replied, shrewdly. "Oh, and when you're done I recommend you check your wardrobe."

* * *

In less than ten minutes, Harry was standing once again in his new bedroom, dripping water on to the floor and wrapped in a white towel. He spared the portrait a look as he passed, to find Tom gone again.

Tom had told him to check the wardrobe. Why ever not? He had been here longer than Harry, after all.

As Harry pulled the wardrobe doors back, he was greeted to a pleasant surprise. The entire wardrobe was armed with flowing fabric weaponry, and flooding with more. There were materials of so many different types – silk, cotton, satin, lace, furs. Because he didn't want to waste time, he tugged the set of dark green robes from its hook and quickly dressed.

Soon enough, he was ready and on his way to the dining room.

* * *

**Reviews make an author delighted! See you soon.**


	18. Guardianship

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Sincere thanks go out to everyone who has reviewed; it is greatly appreciated. Secondly, I'm really sorry about this chapter being shorter than the rest, but I figured it is ****_slightly_**** better than nothing, and thirdly, I got myself a wonderful Beta! My Beta's name is Hippostrowl, and he is helping me edit my earlier chapters; thus, this story is under re-construction.**

**In the last chapter, I think I accidentally wrote 'Astoria' instead of 'Daphne', which was a fatal fault on my part. Thankfully, I was alerted by a guest reader. To be clear, Daphne Greengrass is the second apprentice, and Astoria is her little sister.**

* * *

"Good evening, Mr Potter," Voldemort greeted lightly, from his seat at the head of the long dining table. His right hand lowered a glass of expensive red wine on to the royal blue tablecloth. "Dinner is about to start."

Bellatrix, with her excessively curly hair tied in an intricate chignon, Snape with a glowering expression, Daphne Greengrass looking nonchalant, and an unfamiliar man with abnormally lengthy blonde hair, were all seated and staring at Harry.

"Come, find yourself a place," the Dark Lord said, gesturing at the chair seemingly reserved especially for him. That was how Harry found himself trapped in between Voldemort and the haughty-looking blonde man whose gaze appeared to have permanently been glued to Harry.

"Before dinner begins, I would like to introduce Mr Lucius Malfoy, our Minister for Magic, who arrived here an hour after us," said Voldemort. It most likely was for Harry's sake; as Daphne Greengrass acknowledged softly, with a polite nod of the head, "Mr Malfoy" – suggesting the man was well known amongst the company.

In Harry's stunned mind, however, this was all in the background. All he could focus on was the man's surname: Malfoy. This could not _possibly_ be Draco Malfoy's father … Minister for Magic _and_ Voldemort's acquaintance! Officially speaking, the most powerful man in the nation!  
Perhaps this was where Malfoy Junior's bigheadedness came from. Swallowing nervously, Harry suppressed his initial shock, making a mental note to avoid another argument with Draco.

When dinner finally was launched and the dishes were finally presented, Harry picked up a silver fork, loaded his plate and dug in. It was only when this movement was followed by utter silence that he peeked hesitantly at the others.

"Mr Potter, we do not eat until the master of the manor does," Snape enlightened, with an air of impatience.

Blushing furiously and letting his fork drop with a _clang_, Harry's gaze transferred onto Voldemort.

"Seems like a lesson on manners is in order," Voldemort commented, in an immensely pleasant tone. "Nonetheless, we must all follow Mr Potter's example for the dinner will go cold soon if left unattended." As he said this, he carefully scooped a spoonful of peas on to his plate. The other four all calmly picked up their forks and, copying the Dark Lord, helped themselves to whatever dish they wished – and thus, dinner _truly_ began.

Harry was hesitantly wondering whether he should continue eating when Lucius Malfoy turned towards him with a sparkle in his eye. "Mr Potter, my son has mentioned you many times; I daresay your great name is well acquainted amongst our humble family."

The said speech was mocking, and Harry knew it. Forcing a strained smile, he nodded politely, and made sure his reply was equally formal and ridiculing, "Thank you, Mr Malfoy. I'm honoured the Minister for Magic should know my name, in addition to the privilege of dining with you tonight." From Harry's right side, Voldemort was listening to their exchange with amusement.

"No, it is I who should be honoured," Lucius said. "Congratulations on becoming our Lord's apprentice, and the same praises to Miss Greengrass."

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," said Daphne, looking up from her plate. "Please send my regards to Mrs Malfoy and Draco."

As the polite talk drew to an end, Voldemort picked up his wine glass and raised it elegantly. "A toast to my newly claimed apprentices."

Bellatrix, Snape and Lucius Malfoy all did the same, in unison, while Harry glanced at his own polished but utterly empty glass.

"Like firewhiskey, wine is not appropriate for children, therefore I shall not encourage drinking," Voldemort explained carelessly. "However, Daphne has consumed wine before, on occasion. Haven't you?"

Daphne Greengrass nodded, firmly. "I have often participated in wine drinking – always during necessary toasts and always under the supervision of my parents, of course."

"You are four years Harry's elder, are you not?" Voldemort said. "Very well, you may drink with us… Harry, though, may not." At the Dark Lord's order, a house elf materialised and stepped forward to fill Daphne's glass.

Harry sat in his seat, glaring at nothing in particular, although he had the urge to look daggers at the Dark Lord and drive his point home. He was feeling immensely self-conscious, after being described as a mere child and forbidden from drinking with his 'elders' – he had a lingering suspicion that Voldemort was humiliating him on purpose.

"May your apprentices live up to your expectations, my Lord," Lucius said.

"And may they always triumph in the face of adversity," Bellatrix added.

"They'll have to." Voldemort smiled, downing his glass. "What say you, Harry?"

Harry froze, his fork on its way to his mouth. "I… I have nothing to say."

"Well then, please sit properly and focus on what _I_ have to say." Voldemort paused, allowing Harry's blush of embarrassment time to fully blossom. "I have invited Lucius to be another tutor for Harry and Daphne, and the lessons shall begin the day after tomorrow; giving all of us exactly one day to settle. I believe that in taking up their education between the four of us, we can accomplish miracles. But for now, let us cease talking and concentrate on dinner."

**...**

As dinner continued, Harry grew to be just short of astonished; the appetizer was followed by a fish course, a soup course, the main course, a meat course, a salad course, a cheese selection, and finally dessert. Instead of a simple supper, they had worked their way through a formal, eight-course banquet.

At the end of it, Harry and Daphne were ushered out of the dining room by Bellatrix, and accompanied by Lucius, leaving the Dark Lord alone with Snape and Bellatrix.

"Come," Voldemort said, getting up from his seat, "I need to need to talk with talk with both of you."

Obligingly, the two Death Eaters followed the Dark Lord out onto the balcony and into the bitter cold. Under the blanket of darkness, Voldemort seemed completely at ease. "Severus, Bella, you do still remember when I told you, at the beginning of this year, to kill the parents of my protégés in order for me to gain full guardianship?"

Snape gave a curt nod, as formal as ever, even while his robes fluttered wildly around him. "Yes, my Lord. Do you still intend on us carrying the plan through?"

Eyeing Bellatrix, who was watching from the side lines, Voldemort casually twirled his trusted yew wand in his hands. "Do you think you should?"

Snape hesitated. "I do not know, my Lord."

"An honest answer, Severus," Voldemort said. "But my request was regarding a normal child; and the circumstances of neither Harry nor Daphne are normal. You are well-acquainted with Daphne's mother, Mrs Evelyn Greengrass? "

"Naturally, my Lord," Snape answered, sounding mildly surprised.

"Of course you would be; she belongs in the Inner Circle and is amongst my most loyal followers. Tell me, Severus, is there any sense in killing her when she would delightedly _hand _over Daphne's guardianship to me? Daphne's father, though not a Death Eater, is my supporter and will not resist against any of Evelyn's wishes."

"What about Potter, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked, finally joining the conversation.

"His parents are dead, and his Muggle aunt and uncle, after all the new magical-parenting regulations, can be deemed unfit custodians. Moreover, they do not even _want_ the guardianship of Potter."

"So the Dursleys will not be harmed, my Lord?" Snape inquired.

"I wouldn't say that." Voldemort smiled chillingly. "They must die. However, not before they sign the paperwork that transfers the guardianship of Harry over to me."

"Why would that be necessary, my Lord?" asked Bellatrix.

"Killing the Muggles or signing the paperwork? The Muggles must die so that Harry understands and resigns himself to the fact that he is _completely_ under my control. If the paperwork is not signed, his guardianship will be assigned to Hogwarts, as all orphaned students are before they reach the age of seventeen."

Bellatrix beamed. "My Lord, I'd like to volunteer for this task. I'd like to kill the Muggles."

Voldemort shook his head dismissively. "This requires not only the killing to be made to look like an accident, but also tact and charm. I shall execute this task myself. Meanwhile, you can ask Evelyn Greengrass to sign this…" He pulled out a scroll and offered it to Bellatrix.

Snape cleared his throat. "My Lord, wouldn't your gaining the guardianship of your two apprentices and the unexpected deaths of the Dursleys, accompanied with the needed paperwork for Potter's guardianship transfer, look too much of a coincidence?"

"That is the exact point; Harry must realise the full extent of my power. If the Dursleys die without prior warning, what stops his friends from being next? He _will_ give me his cooperation."

"My Lord, what about the publi –?"

"The public? They will not know about it, Lucius shall cover for me. However, even if the news get out, I doubt it will do anything more than inconvenience me."

"That is undeniably ingenious, my Lord," Bellatrix gushed. "Marvellously fool proof."

Voldemort waved her compliments away. "It's best if you both retire now. I have a nightly visit to pay the Dursleys."

A look of mild surprise etched over Snape's face before he leaned forward in a low bow and retreated, mirrored by Bellatrix.

—0O0—

A young man, dressed elegantly in an impressive black suit and looking the picture of wealth and superiority, walked down a suburban street of Little Whinging in the dead of the night. As he passed beneath the lamps, the light temporarily threw his striking features into relief.

Lord Voldemort stopped outside the little door to the modest house of Number Four, Privet Drive, and knocked lightly. For a while, the sounds went unanswered, and when he finally was received, it was by a skinny, horsey-faced woman who had bundled herself tightly in sleep robes.

"I do not believe you have informed us of your coming?" The woman looked enormously irked, her unsightly brows wrinkling into a frown. "My husband and son are both sleeping. How may I help you?"

Ignoring the blatant insolence and evident impatience, Voldemort smiled graciously; a mixture of flattering politeness and embarrassment. "I feel terribly guilty, disturbing you under such unsuitable circumstances. I tried to time this visit…" – at this he glanced at his pocket watch in emphasis – "but so many things demand my attentions, as they do you and your husband, I'm sure… Director of Grunnings, most notable drill-making company in Surrey, I'm very impressed."

By now, Petunia Dursley had lost her vexed look and was blushing in ill-disguised pleasure. "Oh, it's not the _most_ notable company… but Vernon has put so much hard work into this corporation of his, you have to admit."

"Madam, Mrs Dursley, as I was saying, I'm deeply sorry about having to bother you, but if you could just spare me a few _minutes_ of your time…"

"Oh, no! It's fine, come in." Petunia opened the door widely. "Come in and make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Mrs Dursley," Voldemort said smoothly. "I'll be eternally grateful."

In a fit of uncommon generosity, Petunia protested, "Oh, call me Petunia. 'Mrs Dursley' sounds so old."

"Your house is beautiful, Petunia," he said dutifully, stepping into the household.

Petunia Dursley's eyes widened as she took in his youthful appearance. "Why don't you come and sit down in the living room? Are you here to talk to Vernon about company business? I'll go wake him for you."

"Yes, please, thank you very much. Although, I bring business of a sort, it does not concern Grunnings; I'd like to speak with both of you."

**...**

It did not take long for the elephant of a man to emerge. With a few mannerly nods and a couple of undeserved, gratifying words planted in the right spots, Vernon Dursley was properly buttered up.

When the two Dursleys were seated together on the sofa, Voldemort leaned forward and began his proposal. "I suppose you're acquainted with magical individuals? Witches and wizards? Your nephew was one –"

It seemed something, whether it was his actions or words, had set the Dursleys off. "Now, look here, don't tell me you're one of them?!" Vernon Dursley blathered uncouthly, jabbing a fat finger at the Dark Lord.

Eyes glistening dangerously, Voldemort quenched his desire to punish the offensive interruption. Keeping an even voice, he said, "I think –"

"Don't be silly, Vernon!" Petunia reprimanded. "He cannot_ possibly_ be one of those freaks!"

Voldemort smiled, humourlessly. "It's perfectly fine, Mrs Dursley. I _am_ a wizard."

Vernon Dursley leapt up in anger. "Go away, and keep away! You're not welcome here! Petunia, why did you even open the effing door to let him in?"

"Sit down, Mr Dursley," Voldemort said coldly. "I have a proposal you may want to consider."

"You will get out, or I will phone the police. The last time one of you came, he threatened to slice my fingers off and use them as potion ingredients. I bloody well won't tolerate such insolence again!"

"Sit down, Mr Dursley, before one of us does something we may regret. I find threatening Muggles with wands extremely distasteful. You'll listen to my proposition."

Idiotically, Vernon Dursley continued yelling at the top of his lungs, thrashing his big build about the room and glaring at the Dark Lord out of his piggy eyes.

"_Petrificus Totalis_," Voldemort said lazily, flicking his wrist in Dursley's direction. Petunia gave a small shriek as her husband landed next to her feet with a loud thump.

"Wha – what are you planning on doing to us?"

"Allow me to explain my charitable proposal," said Voldemort softly. "I have a piece of parchment which you put your signature. It removes the guardianship of your nephew, Harry Potter, from your family to my responsibility. In turn, you will be freed from a burden and will be given ten thousand pounds in cash."

"You're not serious!" Petunia gasped. "Where is it?"

"The parchment or the money?" Voldemort asked emotionlessly. "The parchment is here. I suggest you sign it, seeing as Mr Dursley is currently unavailable." He watched in grim triumph as Petunia hurriedly handed the signed parchment back to him.

"If you can just undo the spell…"

"Naturally," Voldemort said, observing Vernon get up with a grunt.

"Where's the money?" Vernon demanded. "You need to uphold your part of the deal."

"Do not fret, Muggle," he sneered. "The money is here."

Vernon grappled at it with craving hunger in his eyes and a small, satisfied smile curling one the edge of his lips. "You can get out now."

Ignoring him, Voldemort stated, "Call it blood money if you wish, since that is the Muggle term for it."

Petunia looked up at him with barefaced shock. "Blood money as in money paid in compensation to the family of one who has been killed? You are planning on killing Potter?"

Voldemort deliberately drew his answer out. "I daresay it won't be your nephew who dies tonight." The icy threat in his tone was so clear that Petunia Dursley instinctively took a step back. "I will take my leave soon, but it was incredibly rude of me; I never introduced myself. My name is Lord Voldemort."

The Dark Lord scorned the pathetic expression of blankness on the face of the Muggle female. "Do you not know the name of your sister's killer?"

He was treated to a look of confusion, followed by fear, before that was replaced by sheer terror. The two Dursleys, victims to utter vulnerability, could only retreat into the corner as Lord Voldemort, the greatest dark wizard of all time, advanced.

The thick silence of the bleak night was sliced mercilessly in half by the screams and shrieks of fear and panic.

Before long, Lord Voldemort stepped outside with a sinister smile. Leisurely, he walked towards the shadow of a looming tree. Behind him was Harry's childhood home, glistening and iridescent against the coat of midnight. The cries became barely audible as the flames ripped through the roof and devoured the entire house, burning its residents alive.

In the split of a second, Voldemort was gone, vanished into thin air. He left behind only rubble.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**


	19. Darker Life

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed, and say that I really appreciate them. I'm sorry for the short chapter last time.**

* * *

The flower garden was literally paradise. If anything, the cold-hearted Dark Lord had an excellent taste in plants. The garden itself was gigantic, stretching to meet the estate of the manor. Overflowing with elegant blossoms and trees, all equally pleasing to the eye, the garden had a palpable taste of orderliness.

Near the very centre was a marble fountain, characterised by a life-like statue of Hades wielding a staff from which crystalline water spilt. To its right leaned a cherry blossom tree, its delicate trunk slanting towards the fountain.

The outer rim of the garden were guarded by the traditional favourite of cultured gardens; the Bleeding Heart, with its refined, almost fairy-like flowers dangling. The entire expanse of the garden was masked securely by a range of different trees from the sun, creating a dappled or shadowy shade in which a seeker could seek privacy.

Perhaps that was the reason Harry was here … The news of the Dursleys' deaths shook him to the very core. Although he had never been particularly fond of them, he now felt something akin to sadness; they may not have been the most generous type of humans but they did not deserve to be murdered, murdered by the very magic they feared.

Harry knew he should never have involved himself in Lord Voldemort's affairs; it was too dangerous. No matter how much the truth was twisted, the fact still remained that Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had died because of him. He felt sick to his stomach, distracted by guilt and a lingering fear: if he did not fully submit himself to the Dark Lord's wishes, who would be next?

Furthermore, Lord Voldemort was now rightfully his guardian, giving him complete legitimate control over Harry's wellbeing. He had been informed of this new change as early as over breakfast. It gave him a headache just thinking about it; it wasn't likely he'd make it out of childhood alive. He dreaded the next day when the first lessons with his new guardian would begin; he had a feeling it wasn't going to be pretty.

With the worst things hanging over his head, Harry made a feeble attempt to focus on the comparatively better things. Earlier in the day, he had paid a half-hearted visit to Voldemort's prized library, and the multitude and age of the books had been magnificently impressive … Aside from that, he also had an exceptional bed.

Harry gave a bitter snort; Voldemort's wealth would be useless to him in the long run. This was laughable. Moreover, it was impractical to believe he would be rid of the Dark Lord anytime soon; there were still his friends to consider.

With a gloomy future looming over him, Harry trudged through Voldemort's flower garden with a disconsolate expression.

—0O0—

"Young Master _must_ wear dragon hide boots! Master commanded!"

"Spookie," Harry said, in amusement, "there's no need to fret. I'll wear them." He grew less pleased, however, as the house elf endlessly passed him various garments from the enormous pile of fabrics in its little arms.

"Young Master must wear them all!" Spookie declared. "Master said so, therefore, Young Master must obey!"

Frowning, Harry struggled to heave on the cumbersome fur cloak. "This is impossible; it's meant to be our first lesson, and I can hardly walk in this!" The heaviness of the layers were weighing him down, making him awkwardly clumsy.

The house elf darted forward to usher Harry out of the room, saying, "Must hurry, and mustn't keep Master waiting!"

"Spookie, are you sure about this?" Harry gestured helplessly. "I don't believe even Voldemort would be as mad as to order this…"

Instead of receiving an answer, he was rushed to the Duelling Hall, to where the Dark Lord was waiting, by the hassled house elf.

**...**

The Dark Lord stood up as soon as Harry entered through the doors, his eyes flashing in hilarity while he took in his ward's appearance. "Good to see you, Harry. Unless I'm wrong, you are thirty minutes early."

Harry approached Voldemort warily, inwardly dismayed at the house elf; he did want any more to spend time with his new _guardian _than to hang himself. "I… I can come back later…" he offered tentatively.

"I personally find house elves fascinating creatures. I believe you have already noticed how they prefer to be early rather than late?"

Harry fought an urge to groan. "Yes, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. I shall come back later," he said, turning to leave.

"My Lord."

"What?" Harry said.

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, _my Lord. _That being what all my followers call me, you are not special enough as to avoid the usual courtesies. Secondly, since you are already here, you shall not leave until I dismiss you."

Instantly, Harry's wall of self-restraint shattered from the assertion; Voldemort's current actions had been grating on his nerves all yesterday, and this was the final thrust needed for him to be driven over the edge. "I'm not one of your servant Death Eaters," he snapped, against his better judgement.

Instantaneously, Harry found himself on the opposite end of Voldemort's yew wand, and facing his unpromising fate in the eye.

"I overlooked your irksome insolence at Hogwarts. Finding myself on the threshold of redeeming my earlier kindness, I suggest you consider whether jousting with me is worth confronting my wrath, which will eventually result in your begging for mercy," Voldemort forewarned, his pale lips tightening.

Harry's mind took time to assess the situation, weighing up his options. Finally, he backed down, eyes lowered.

"Good boy," Voldemort mocked, letting his wand fall to his side.

Harry had never fully fathomed the circumstances until now, but when he thought about it, he realised there were vast alternations between the Voldemort he had seen for the first time in Diagon Alley, the clever manipulator at Hogwarts, and the Dark Lord he was facing now. The dark wizard had been ruthless in Diagon Alley, charming as well as manipulative at Hogwarts, and now…he was a mixture of the two.

When attempting to successfully bend a crowd to his will, Voldemort would fall back onto his charisma and grace; however, away from the eyes of the beneficial public, the pretence fell away to expose his brutal nature.

One conclusion could be reached based on Harry's observations: he was now in more danger than ever with Lord Voldemort in his own territory and free to abide by his own rules.

"From the time when you arrived, we have wasted nothing but time. Perhaps we ought to get on?" Voldemort said.

"Yes."

"Pardon?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very well." Voldemort appeared to be satisfied. "Let us try a warm-up."

"Spookie said you wished for me to wear these…" Harry hesitated. "Is it necessary? It limits my movements."

"Professor Snape told me about your tendency of dodging curses rather than protecting yourself with spells. Although physical agility and reflexes is a must in duelling, it can lead you to becoming too dependent, creating a loophole in your defences," Voldemort stated. "Your clothing hinders your swiftness, and may be able to curb your unfortunate habit."

Figuring it made sense, as irritating as Voldemort's methods were, Harry nodded.

"How do you feel about duelling me, Harry?"

Harry's insides froze. How did he feel about exchanging blows with the darkest wizard of all time, the most powerful of his generation? Surely, he wasn't expected to feel _good_.

"Aside from not using the Unforgivable Curses, I will not slow down for you. You need to learn to keep up with my pace." Voldemort smiled disturbingly. "On the count of three: one, two…"

His survival instincts kicking in, Harry reacted on the count of 'two', wielding his wand and yelling, "_Expelliarmus!_"  
The spell was intercepted half way by Voldemort's quick retaliation. This was followed by a harsh hiss: "_Objecto_." It ripped through Harry's clumsy shields with a chilling ease and flung him against the back wall.

"Get up," Voldemort commanded. "Your shields are pathetic."

"Professor Snape said they were passable. I –" With an effort, Harry hauled himself to his feet shakily, counting his lucky stars that he had not injured his head.

"Merely being 'passable' is not sufficient. Tell me again, whose apprentice are you? I will not be humiliated by your incompetence that knows no bounds."

Harry bit down on his tongue to stop a retort from coming out. He wasn't getting any better at this. Taking a few deep breaths, he said, "Forgive me, my Lord. I agree entirely; my abilities are lacking."

"I prefer the silence to your obvious, badly-woven lies," Voldemort said softly. "However, I find your respectfulness agreeable. Remember that what you learn, you learn for yourself."

Harry bent down to pick up his fallen wand from the floor. "Are all of the lessons this rough?" he asked casually.

"My, complaining already?" Voldemort said. "Personally, I do not think you have the right to whine when you cheated on our very first duel."

"_What?_" Harry gawped.

"You cheated, in case you have not noticed. Who knew you would _honourably_ apply trickery to best your opponents?"

He flushed angrily at the tease. "I did not," he protested.

"What a strong tone," Voldemort remarked, "for a child who tried to take advantage of Lord Voldemort in a duel."

Harry blanched as the comment hit home. "Sorry…" he faltered. "I didn't mean to –"

"I am not displeased," the Dark Lord interrupted. "If truth be told, I am impressed by your tactics. It is only logical you should employ all your means, underhanded or not, to win."

As much as Harry was against unprincipled methods, he could not help but feel a hint of accomplishment at the rare praise. "I suppose it's –"

His sentence was broken off by the entrance of Daphne Greengrass, who arrived sporting weightless robes, perfect for training. He might have known he was given special treatment.

"My Lord, I do hope I am not late," Daphne said, giving Harry a hard stare.

"Oh, no. Harry has been early for once, thus I seized the chance to give him a few pointers." Voldemort raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Why don't you and I warm up while Harry plays audience?"

"Certainly, my Lord."

Harry watched curiously from the side lines as the two took their places. "When you're ready," Voldemort said to Daphne. "Take your time." However, the moment Daphne reached for her wand, he unpityingly threw a spell at her which knocked her clean off her feet.

"You might have prevented that if you had been on your guard at all times. Do not trust the words of anyone but yourself." Voldemort shook his head. "Harry used that same technique against me, unsuccessfully."

With what seemed to be an accepting smile, Daphne stood up and dusted herself.

"In some ways, your duelling styles are contraries; while Daphne is capable of complex footwork and physical agility, she disregards it for the endless use of magic, and you, Harry, having grown up in a Muggle environment, rely too much on your physical assets and clearly not enough on your magical ones."

"Of course, my Lord," Daphne murmured humbly.

"The purpose of today's lesson is to strengthen your flaws, weaknesses, and drawbacks in duelling. With that in mind, Daphne will be making an effort at avoiding curses without _any use of magic_ whereas Harry will face the spells head-on using _only_ magic," Voldemort said. "The two of you can assist each other. Who will be practising first?"

"I will, my Lord," Daphne said.

"Very well," Voldemort agreed. "This means Harry will be shooting spells at you." He stretched out a hand towards Daphne, palm upward.

"My Lord?" she asked.

"Your wand," the Dark Lord said impatiently. "Give me your wand." When the wand was placed tenderly in Voldemort's possession, they were directed to their places.

When they began, Harry tentatively cast only the easiest of hexes, one at a time, all of which Daphne evaded. He was hesitant of hitting Daphne when she was in no position to properly protect herself.

"Harry," Voldemort hissed warningly.

Reluctantly, he picked up the speed, throwing two hexes at a time. For all Daphne ducked and weaved, he could tell she was faltering; stumbling slightly here and there. Shortly, her breathing became laboured, and a hex caught her on the ankle.

Harry stopped immediately and lowered his wand, regardless of Daphne's irritated expression. "I'm fine," she said, icily.

"You are not fine," Voldemort said, handing Daphne her wand. "Your stamina is pitiable. However, it may be best if you switch places with Harry now. We'll see how he copes against your spells."

Daphne nodded humbly at Voldemort's words, and raised her wand with cold composure. She aimed a couple of basic curses, which all vanished upon meeting Harry's shield with satisfying _plops_. "_Reducto!_" she cried. "_Sectumsempra_."

Harry gave a start as the curses that spurted out of Daphne's wand promptly became more and more dangerous. "_Contego_." He reinforced the shield with another glowing layer, a split second before the curses rammed against it resoundingly; the sheer force of the offending magic vibrated up his arm in waves. In spite of this, the shield maintained its shape and provided Harry with sound protection.

"Daphne, step aside; Harry is more powerful than you think…but…" Voldemort carelessly sent a curse spiralling in Harry's direction, penetrating the shield effortlessly. "But undoubtedly not powerful enough."

Behind the Dark Lord's shoulder, Daphne's tranquil expression distorted into one of anger. Harry saw her lips tighten until they looked like they had melted into one thin line. She swiftly straightened her features when Voldemort turned back towards her. "My Lord?"

"The two of you will accompany me to the library. Your practical training for the day is done."

**...**

Lord Voldemort elegantly pulled two books of the same cover from the bookshelf and handed one to Harry and the other to Daphne. "I do not wish to overexert you on the first day, but I do expect you to read through the first six chapters of the book and report to Lucius, who will be your tutor tomorrow."

Harry goggled like a rubbernecked duck. "Approximately how many pages are in each chapter...my Lord?"

"There are two hundred and seventy-six pages in the first six chapters precisely," Voldemort answered.

"And we have to read through all of it today?"

"I think you can answer that question yourself," Voldemort rebuked. "I do not tolerate failure to complete homework, and I will make sure Lucius does not either. Run along now, and entertain yourself for the rest of this day."

—0O0—

Three weeks had passed since Harry's first lesson, and he supposed he had settled down, in an odd way. Voldemort was working them like slaves, regardless of whether they were exhausted to the bone; studying with the Dark Lord required maximum concentration and drive.

On the other hand, Harry's magic had improved in great bounds, shooting up the scale. Ironically, under Voldemort's guiding hand, Harry's power had _flourished_, perhaps not miraculously, but still remarkably.

At the end of every lesson, Voldemort would assign them their 'daily homework', loading them with a mountain of new spells they had to practise. Despite Harry's resentment at the intolerable strictness, he still had yet to defy his tasks.

Unexpectedly enough, Voldemort had also stayed his hand and had not cursed Harry thus far, even with the provoking of frequent squabbles.

By now, Harry had gone through not only the teachings of the Dark Lord, but also his other tutors, who each had different styles. Lucius was despicably polite, but more often than not, he would trade subtle jabs with Harry. Bellatrix's style was wild, and she was infatuated with the Dark Arts, making her a demanding instructor when it came to dark magic, and Snape was just the ordinary Snape, habitually taxing on his nerves.

Harry currently was in his bedroom, grumbling about the injustice of his guardian to the portrait of Tom Riddle. "This is ridiculous! I'm expected to non-verbally summon an object of any weight in this room by tonight! This isn't even _on_ the study schedule at Hogwarts until fourth year, and even then –"

"Please, Harry," Tom Riddle remarked lightly, his voice embedded with laughter. "Hogwarts is hardly something you should compare yourself with; you will _never _succeed if you follow the average student level."

"Urgh," Harry groaned in frustration. "Are those supposed to be words of consolation?"

"No." Tom smiled smugly. "When I was your age, I could not only perform non-verbal spells but also human transfiguration. I imagine Lord Voldemort soon be teaching you that."

"You were a genius, I give you that," Harry gritted out. "Any _useful_ advice?"

"Perhaps the best advice for you right now is not to anger the one person who controls your life."

"Oh, yeah? I don't think I need you telling me that. My new _guardian_ is going to skin me alive when he realises I did not complete my _homework assignment_," Harry spat.

"If it's any comfort," Tom said, "I don't think he'll kill you; I have no doubt you're of more use to him alive than dead – and although Lord Voldemort is not known for his patience, I can assure you that he can be more forbearing than anyone if he wishes."

"I'm sure you were the intellectual mastermind in your time," Harry said, desperately. "Please help me, if you can, that is."

"My, the great Harry Potter begging for my help? I shall have to oblige," Tom teased.

"Thank you, thank you _so_ much."

"I'm sure when you are in the right state of mind and the right arm frame the spell will come naturally. Show me how you're performing it at present," Tom commanded.

**...**

Two hours later, a tired but jubilant Harry emerged from his room, now fully qualified to execute a non-verbal summoning charm. He had discovered that Tom Riddle was not only an intelligent companion but also a magnificent teacher; firm but charismatic.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when he nearly collided with Daphne Greengrass, whose eyes flashed in annoyance. "Oh, sorry!" he said, in surprise. "Are you alright?"

When Daphne looked up, Harry was taken aback by the intense, penetrating look. "Harry, we need to talk," she said decisively. It sounded unfamiliar, hearing his name arise from her lips.

"I don't see why not," Harry said, uncertainly. "Is it important?"

"Very." Daphne glanced at him again and gracefully walked away, with Harry obediently following.

They ended up in Voldemort's secluded flower garden, where Daphne led him straight for the thickest, most sheltered area.

"Harry Potter… I have heard of your name a long time ago," said Daphne lightly. "Harry Potter, son to a traitorous Death Eater, a substandard Half-Blood, and yet selected by Lord Voldemort to become his junior apprentice."

Harry was caught off guard by the expression of superiority and aggression. "_Excuse me?_" he said.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Daphne snarled, loathing etched across her fine features. "I am not to be trifled with, and especially not by a young boy of inferior birth, of no importance to the world, member of a prominent light family, and unfaithful to the Dark Lord in every respect!"

Utterly bewildered, Harry looked at her blankly while attempting to figure out what was transpiring. "What are you –?"

"You mediocre fool, you are but an inconvenience to me; if_ I _do not eliminate you, my mother undoubtedly shall…" Daphne paused. Perhaps the Dark Lord will even remove you himself when he realises you are of little value."

By now, Harry had recovered somewhat enough from his shock to ask,"I do not understand. Can you please be a little clearer?"

"Oh? You still do not understand?" Daphne hissed. "You are competition. Competition for the Dark Lord's attention. I shall conquer you, just as I did when we duelled."

"What is this? _Jealousy?_" exclaimed Harry in disbelief. "I am not challenging you, merely coexisting beside you."

"Jealous of you? No, I don't think so." Daphne sneered. "You overrate yourself."

"I was only imitating you," Harry snapped. "Do not tell me you consider me a threat."

"I do not share," said Daphne coldly. "I fight to rid my opponents." She produced her wand from under her sleeve and levelled it at Harry's throat. "Do not move a step."

He scoffed. "You want a duel to take place right here? Aside from wrecking Voldemort's precious flower garden, do you really want him to know of what you've said?"

"Your death can be entirely silent. You have heard of the third Unforgivable Curse, haven't you?"

"You're going to kill me? Do you not think my corpse would be suspicious? You think you can keep your secret from Voldemort, a powerful mastermind?" Harry was not daunted in the least.

"You are absolutely right," Daphne said softly. "The Dark Lord has to kill you himself."

"What makes you think I will not tell him of this incident?" Harry said. "Maybe you will find your plans backfiring."

"It is fairly obvious you detest the Dark Lord. Somehow, I do not think you will bring this matter to him."

"I can find several faults in your plans. How will you make Voldemort kill me himself?"

"Oh, I don't think we need to worry about that," said Daphne. "You will get yourself in trouble, in due course. The Dark Lord does not tolerate followers who are disloyal, and you present a very nice representation of unfaithfulness."

"This is ludicrous. You cannot possibly be absurd enough as to suggest I jeopardise your position," Harry said, again. "I do not even feel comfortable in the same room as Voldemort."

"Pray, tell me something I do not know already."

"As you said yourself, my root is with a prominent light family. I have no desire to be his apprentice, I promise you. He is corrupted, stained with the deaths of hundreds of innocents." And Harry was telling the truth; he wanted nothing more than to be miles and miles away from Voldemort.

"You shall not besmirch his name!" Daphne cried harshly. "You will not insult the Dark Lord."

"If I can find a way out of this, I will take it!" Harry said. "I am losing control of my own life. First, he became my master, and then my guardian." Voldemort had gained too much control over his life than he could handle.

"What can a poor, insignificant Half-Blood do?" Daphne mocked.

Harry gave a smile. "I don't know, you tell me."

"Now…" Daphne's eyes glistened sharply as she mused over Harry's words. "You will feign incompetence." She breathed excitedly. "No matter how many times you attempt a spell, no matter what methods the Dark Lord uses, you never do it right."

"He will be suspicious," he warned, simply.

"It is your job to act out your part well," she said. "Over time, he will throw you out."

"Or kill me," he said dully, "and my friends."

"That will be your only way out. It all depends on whether you take the chance."

"This foolish," Harry said. "But I cannot answer you just yet."

"Remember," Daphne said chillingly, "it is either Harry Potter or Daphne Greengrass."


	20. Good, Evil, And Power

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Thank you for all your lovely reviews! I really appreciate every one of them.**

**Here comes a tornado of Voldemort's charming manipulation for Harry! I doubt Harry can help getting whisked into it. Of course, there is also Daphne Greengrass who will be out for his blood. **

* * *

Harry lay in his bed, replaying the strange events and Daphne's declaration in his mind.

He scoffed quietly. What made Daphne think he was willing to fight with her over Lord Voldemort? What made her think he was willing to comply with her demands?

In the garden, he had been in such a state of surprise that he wasn't thinking clearly. He had been a fool to even _consider_ he might have been capable of fooling Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord would notice immediately if Harry feigned ineptitude. It was inevitable.

Furthermore, even if everything _did_ turn out successful, who was there to guarantee that Harry and his friends would not be killed?

He turned over onto his side. No, this would not do. As much as he wanted to get away from Voldemort, he could not do it in this way; he would not be used as a chess piece by Daphne Greengrass out of all people.

With a strategy hatched to fail, Harry had no doubt Voldemort would be furious when he found out. And Harry had no desire to be at the centre of his wrath.

He didn't care what Daphne thought of his decision. She might feel that Harry was afraid of her; he identified her misconception through her body language: the arrogant tone, the raised chin, the wand which she twirled calmly in front of Harry's throat – but he truly wasn't. He wasn't daunted by her in the least. Unsettled, perhaps, by her declaration of him as a threat, but he wasn't scared of _her_.

The only reason he had even considered her proposal of feigning incompetence was so he could be free of Voldemort once and for all, but it was now evident that the only person to reap the gain was Daphne Greengrass. Harry's anger flared at the thought.

Daphne's conceit and greed were astonishing. Did she really think Harry as senseless and spineless as to act in accordance to her every wish? If so, she was delusional.

Abruptly, his bedroom door opened with a soft click, and the silhouette of a person crept soundlessly across the room to his bed. Harry quieted his breathing. The curtains were lifted up. The invader leapt back in shock at Harry's alert, wide-open eyes. "Harry!"

"Daphne… What are you doing?" Harry was almost equally surprised.

"I thought you were asleep," said Daphne icily. "Seems like I misjudged."

"I said, what are you doing here?" Harry repeated, stonily. "Especially when I'm presumed to be sleeping?"

"No matter," Daphne said dismissively. "Have you made up your mind?"

Harry glared daggers at her. "I'm not going to do it."

"I beg your _pardon_?" Daphne looked infuriated. "How dare you, you little cheat?"

"I never promised anything," he said, simply.

"Potter!" Daphne seethed. "I'm warning you –"

"I've made up my mind and you will not change it."

"This is your only way out. You said you wanted to get away from the Dark Lord."

"I do," Harry sneered. "Just not as your dead pawn."

"Listen up, Potter, I won't let you mess things up for me. You're going to do it whether you like it or not."

"Oh?" Harry said, in an innocent tone. "And how are you going to do that?"

"I have my own conspiracies," she said pleasantly. "If you don't watch out, you may just find yourself in the middle of one."

"Your threats are empty," Harry deadpanned. "While mine are not."

"And what may they be?" Daphne inquired mockingly.

Harry leaned back casually in his bed, and folded his arms. "If you do not drop this subject and leave my room, you may just find Voldemort hearing of this." It was a lie; there was no way he would ever run to Voldemort for help but then again, Daphne didn't have to know that.

"You will tell the Dark Lord?" she said.

"Perhaps."

"Then, perhaps, I made a wise decision to come tonight," Daphne said. The next second, her wand was in her grasp and Harry was bound tightly to his bed by a well-aimed spell. "Do I seem like the impulsive type of person to you? I do not leave behind evidence that can get me in trouble."

Struggling to free himself, Harry lashed out to no avail. He had not expected anything remotely similar to this to happen.

"Save your strength," Daphne said softly. "I've warded the room. No one can hear you if you scream."

"What are you going to do?" he spat defiantly.

"I owe you some explaining, Harry. Have you heard of Legilimency?" Daphne said, looking at Harry, who remained stubbornly silent. "I'll take that as a no. Legilimency is a rare skill, an art, which allows talented witches and wizards to read the mind of another. These witches and wizards are known as Legilimens. The Dark Lord is one such wizard."

"I know Voldemort can read minds," Harry said. "He mentioned it the day he asked me to become his apprentice."

"This should be easy to clarify, then. Suppose you followed the original faking uselessness idea and the Dark Lord applied Legilimency on you, upon suspecting something?"

"He would know about your actions," he answered.

"Exactly. Earlier, you asked me why I came. I tell you now that I came to plant a few false memories in your head; had you followed our initial plan, it would have been extremely likely that the Dark Lord would skim through your mind in hopes of finding the problem to your ineptness. In the case that happened, he would have seen only _your desire_ to feign incompetence and none of the part I played. This means that even if my former plan had failed, I would lose nothing and the entire blame would be put on you."

"You're appalling," Harry snarled. "You will not get away with this –"

"Pity, by morning you will not remember a thing; not the events in the flower garden, not tonight, not anything that paints me in bad light." Daphne smiled coolly. "Seeing as you will not oblige, I will have to use something that differs slightly from the original false memory charm I was going to cast on you. You have heard of a Memory Charm, I suppose?" Harry glared at her, and shook his head stiffly. "Really?" Daphne let out a scorning laugh. "Your duelling skills may exceed those of your age but your ignorance of the wizarding world never ceases to amaze me."

"You'll regret this," Harry cautioned. "I will come after you."

"Not before you recover your memories." Daphne raised her wand and smirked. "_Obliviate_. All your knowledge about this our little_ secret_ will soon be gone."

Before Daphne left, she caught a glimpse of the empty portrait beside Harry bed. Empty, just as it had been when she had entered. All for the better; it was best if there were no witnesses, even if they were just wretched portraits.

**...**

Harry woke up with a pounding headache, it felt like a sanding machine grinding against his skull. When he tried to raise his head, his nerves were fiercely attacked by tiny needles. "_Ouch_," he grumbled. "Tom? Tom, are you there?"

"Yes," came the nonchalant reply. "You should hurry up. Your lesson with Lord Voldemort is in ten minutes."

"Oh, _God_," he groaned. "Do you think he'll have my head if I do not make it?"

"Most likely," Tom answered breezily. "I suggest you do not test his patience."

"Doesn't matter." Harry slumped back against his pillows. "Let him take it. Who knows? It just might help get rid of this … killer headache."

"You have a headache?" Tom asked, serious now. "Do you know what caused it?"

"No," he said, massaging his tender temples. "I have no idea. I can't even remember anything."

"Can you recall what happened after I helped you with the Summoning Charm?" Tom said.

"It's all hazy," Harry muttered. "What's the point? Right now, I can't even think."

"You are pathetic," Tom sneered cuttingly. "When I ask you a decent question, I expect you to answer it."

"You're not helping in the least," Harry said, wincing at the sharp sound.

"Well, if you have the energy to retort, perhaps you're not in so much pain, after all," Tom said coldly.

"Okay, fine. I went to the flower garden, and I think I walked around a little, and then I came back. You weren't here, and I was tired so I went to bed early."

"Good enough," Tom said, shortly. "Go back to sleep. I'll handle whoever Lord Voldemort sends here to fetch you, and himself, if I have to."

Cursing his head, Harry lay down again and managed to sink into a slumber almost immediately.

**...**

The next time Harry woke, it was not voluntarily but by a series of brusque shakes. He cracked open his eyes reluctantly and found, to his alarm, Voldemort's face hovering within a few centimetres. With a yelp of surprise, Harry recoiled as further away as he could.

"Relax, Harry," Voldemort said, calmly. "I am only here to check on you. Tell me, where does it hurt?" Harry remained obstinately silent, refusing to expose his weakness. "Come on, Harry, wilfulness will get you nowhere."

"I can't tell for sure; it's everywhere. Except it isn't very painful now, just a faint throbbing," Harry quickly added.

"Oh?" Voldemort asked, darkly. "I was under the impression you had fainted from the pain. It would seem your condition is not very serious. Perhaps Tom lied to me."

"Oh no, my Lord," Tom said from his portrait, with a subtle trace of mockery in his words. "I wouldn't _dare_."

"You are becoming too undisciplined, Tom; your behaviour is disgraceful. Remember who your master is. If you weren't a portrait –"

"He didn't lie!" Harry fibbed, in a frantic attempt protect the older boy. "I _was_ unconscious for a while."

"Hmm," Voldemort murmured, "are you sure?" Harry nodded vehemently, hotly replying, "Yes, absolutely!"

"There you go, my Lord." Tom smirked triumphantly. "The proof, close at hand. Harry has vouched for me." There was a hidden taunt concealed in his words somewhere that Harry could not name, but it had a direct impact on the Dark Lord, whose eyes glinted dangerously.

"Thank you, Tom," Voldemort said ominously. "Leave us for a while. Go to your frame in my office, and wait there for me." Harry saw Tom linger for a moment with an uncooperative expression, before he was gone and his canvas was empty once again.

Harry was shocked by the exchange between Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort; he couldn't believe the former could have been so daring as to leer at the Dark Lord. Even _he_ hadn't, on any account, paraded with such insolence in front of the dark wizard. He had a gut feeling there was something unexplained concerning the two.

"Now, Harry, you should drink this." As he said it, Voldemort handed Harry a flask. "It will temporary bring the headache to an end, until tomorrow morning, when it will perhaps be gone for good."

"Okay." Harry downed the flask in one gulp, and tried to overlook the foul taste of putrid socks. He nestled comfortably under his duvet, savouring the instantaneous effects of the potion.

"Would you like me to read you a story, Harry?" Voldemort sat down restfully on Harry's bed, and plucked a children's book from thin air.

The look of content on Harry's face immediately transformed into one of open horror. His mind could not absorb this insanity, but it couldn't deny the new weight on his bed either. Never in his wildest, most horrendous nightmares would a scene like this happen. Lord Voldemort offering to read him a story as if he was a five year old!

"It is a collection of bedtime stories titled _Tales of Beetle the Bard_. The stories include _Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump_, _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, The Fountain of Fair Fortune, The Warlock's Hairy Heart, _and _The Tale of the Three Brothers_. Shall we start from the first?" Voldemort inquired, seeming to take malicious pleasure from Harry's discomfort.

"Please, no! I mean…it's hardly suitable for this occasion!" Harry exclaimed, stumbling over his own words. "It's fine. I can manage on my own. I don't mind. You can leave if you want."

"Is my presence not welcome?" Voldemort asked, forebodingly. He raised his eyebrows mockingly. "If you do not wish for me to read you a story, then how is chess? You do know how to play?"

"I do. But…" Harry trailed off. He wondered whether he was going crazy; it wouldn't be a surprise, especially with all the deceits Voldemort was spinning up. No matter how he looked at the situation, this particular scenario seemed impossible.

"Chess is not only simply a game but also training for the mind. It weaves around strategy and manipulation; one has to learn when to sacrifice a pawn for the greater gain. With that said, I doubt you can win me." Voldemort smiled, and replaced the book in his hands with a chess set. "You can be White, and I shall be Black."

"How befitting," Harry commented, without thinking.

"Indeed. In the end, black shall triumph, leaving the white in pieces."

"What do you mean by 'in pieces'?" Harry asked.

"This is Wizard's Chess, and you will soon find out," Voldemort replied casually. "It is your turn first."

"Pawn to e3," Harry said.

"Knight to h6."

Soon, Harry discovered that the chess pieces literally tussled with each other, wincing the first time one of his pawns shattered into fragments. Soon he got used to seeing them wiped out one by one as Voldemort's army unrelentingly fought their way across the board.

"Check," the dark wizard said, smiling.

Harry looked to see his king in danger of capture by Voldemort's bishop. He made to move his king one square to the left when Voldemort's voice stopped him, "Are you sure about that, Harry? My rook is ready over there. I can checkmate your king." In desperation, Harry protected the king with his queen as a shield.

In altogether five minutes' time, Voldemort managed to capture Harry's queen, and in a total of seven minutes, he successfully cornered the king. "Checkmate," the Dark Lord said smugly.

"Urgh, that's not fair," Harry protested, forgetting for a while that his opponent was Lord Voldemort. "You've had more experience than me. I bet I can win if we go for a second round."

The Dark Lord chuckled in amusement at Harry's antics. "Is that an open invitation?" The determined look on Harry's face answered it all.

It turned out, in spite of his determination of steel, Harry still lost. Three times in a row. He just didn't understand how Voldemort creamed him so effortlessly. When Voldemort made him yet another offer to play again, Harry sourly declined. "Thank you, but _no_ _thank you_."

"Very well," he replied agreeably. "If you are in such a mood, I shall not force you."

"Don't you have to teach…Daphne?" Harry asked, twitching suddenly. For reasons unknown, he felt an irrational hatred at the name.

"I called the lesson off," Voldemort answered lightly. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "Are you leaving soon?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "You want me to leave? I plan on staying until it is your bedtime."

Harry's jaws dropped. "But that's hours and hours away! We haven't even had lunch! You're not serious?"

"Harry, as a word of warning, you are one inch away from blatant disrespect," the Dark Lord cautioned. "My intention _is_ to remain until the very last hours. You will just have to endure my company."

At those words, his heart sank to the very depth of his stomach. Harry licked his lips nervously; he really didn't see how he could withstand a whole day being so intimate with his new _guardian_. Apparently, Voldemort was getting more and more creative with the techniques of slow torture.

Harry was brought back to harsh reality when Voldemort impatiently snapped his fingers, summoning Spookie. "House elf, bring us a medium plate of butter chicken, a large plate of roast vegetables, two cottage pies, two small plates of honeyed eggs, two small plates of sauced meatballs, a handsome quantity of strawberry tarts, and two separate bowls of German chicken soup."

Spookie bowed so low that its nose touched the floor. "Yes, Master. Immediately, Master." It scuttled away without even glancing at Harry.

"Why do you have to be so severe on your servants?" Harry blurted, unthinkingly.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed for a second, as he decided on an answer. "Harry," he said softly, "aside from the fact they are your inferiors, house elves _want_ to be treated like this. Do you see the poor relationship you've developed with your elf, simply because you regarded it as an equal? _That _is cruel; forcing it to go against its nature, to absorb your kind words while not comprehending."

Harry looked up at Voldemort sceptically. "I think it's because of the restrictions you put on them. Spookie's terrified of conversing with me, ever since the time you chastised –"

"A stronger creature with a more independent mind would not buckle under mere words. Tell me, Harry, will you collapse if I stayed overnight to lecture you on your uselessness?"

"No," he reluctantly replied. "But that is beside the point –"

"Precisely. You will feel indignant and provoked, perhaps, but you will _not_ crumple. Humans, the species altogether, with Muggles and Mudbloods included, _are_ more complex and sophisticated than beasts and animals alike; they are blessed with creativity, independence of mind, intelligence, the gift of learning from experience," explained Voldemort, in a manner counted for patience. "Put them on an uninhabited island, and they will survive, and not only that… they will _flourish._ In that sense, Muggles and wizards are the same."

Hearing Voldemort finally acknowledge the skills of Muggles, Harry leaned forward keenly.

"Muggles are clever enough; they achieved what we cannot without magic. They have designed elevators, automobiles, and harnessed the power of electricity with the help of what they call the 'simple machines', consisting of the inclined plane, the lever, the wheel and axle, the pulley, the wedge and the screw. They are higher in the fields of science, technology and biochemistry than us."

Harry smiled slightly, and nodded. He was listening without encouragement now.

"We post letters by owl, but it can be slow and easily intercepted. The Muggles have produced an item called the telephone, with which they speak directly to the person they wish to communicate with," Voldemort said. "However, I still consider us the superiors. While I acknowledge the efforts of Muggles, I cannot help but pity them; we can so effortlessly achieve the same with magic, without wasting so much time on scientists, biologists, doctors and psychologists. With all-mighty magic at our every disposal, from daily household tasks to duelling, are we not the superiors?"

Harry grimaced. Voldemort had a rational point, a twisted ration, but logical nonetheless. For that reason, he remained silent.

There was a crack, and Spookie appeared again, balancing a massive tray on its shaky shoulders. "Lunch is here, Master," it squeaked.

"Master _and Young Master_," Voldemort corrected curtly. "Dismissed."

"Thank you, Spookie," Harry said softly, with a polite smile. He watched with disappointment as the house elf scurried away without even admitting his thanks, while Voldemort looked on with faint amusement.

"Eat," Voldemort commanded. "You are too scrawny for your own good."

Harry glanced at the Dark Lord reluctantly. "The master of the manor is to eat first," he recited. Voldemort's lips twitched violently as if he was suppressing laughter. "As amusing as it is to let you carry on the formalities, I have to inform you that I have no concern over who gets the first bite when it is just the two of us dining in private."

As Harry dug in hungrily, he saw out of the corner of his eye Voldemort observing him while making no move to eat. He felt ill at ease under the intense scrutiny.

"Strawberry tart?" Voldemort offered. "I personally am rather fond of them."

Harry choked on his soup, and ended up coughing. If anyone else but Voldemort himself had told Harry that the Dark Lord was fond of strawberry tarts, he would have thought them insane; it was hard to envision the inhumane wizard liking anything sweet. "No thanks," Harry spluttered.

"Meatballs, perhaps?" Voldemort said, seemingly determined to shove all of the food down Harry's throat.

"No, thanks," Harry mumbled, slightly unnerved by the bizarre turn of events. "I'll have them later." Since when did Voldemort care how much he ate?

"Suit yourself, Harry," Voldemort said, and gracefully reached for a strawberry tart. Harry could not help but stare as the Dark Lord opened his mouth, to reveal two rows of perfectly shining teeth, and bit into it. It seemed like such a normal, human thing to do, that not one person could possibly believe Voldemort, the darkest wizard of all time, would act this way.

"Eat, Harry," Voldemort ordered. "This lunch will not end until you have finished your share."

**...**

By the end of the meal, Harry realised just how much food Voldemort had requested. It was many times the amount he normally ate. While Voldemort smoothly sipped his soup and dined on the tarts, Harry was forced to eat everything else.

"Congratulations, Harry. I thought you were never going to finish," Voldemort said, smirking.

"I think I'll never touch butter chicken again," Harry growled.

Voldemort chuckled. "Ever the negative, dear Harry. Speaking of your negative views, I thought we'd tackle the Dark Arts."

Harry stiffened immediately, the hairs on his neck rising. "What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"What I mean, Harry, is that I know of your rejection and revulsion towards the Dark Arts," Voldemort said. "All I ask of you is to be a little more open-minded, and hear my opinion on the subject that has done nothing to earn so much hostility from you."

Despite Voldemort's mild manner, Harry's tolerance snapped like a piece of thread against scissor blades. Enough was enough. Dining politely with the Dark Lord was one thing while hearing him admit openly he was going to mould Harry into a dark little monster was something wholly different.

"No, thank you. I'd rather not be as open-minded as so my brains leak out, nor will I allow you to brainwash me," Harry countered, using the witty phrase he had heard from the mouths of many others. "Besides, perhaps the best way to pass an ability onto your students is to demonstrate it yourself."

Voldemort's darkening expression cast a chilling shadow over the atmosphere. "Harry," he said softly, "my request was not unreasonable. I have shown you both mercy and leniency, and stayed my hand. Now however, I find myself tempted to teach you a precious lesson." He snapped his fingers.

Promptly, Harry was hauled unceremoniously from his bed and thrown to the floor where he was callously bounded to one of the bed posts. He thrashed wildly to free himself, but to his dismay, found the magical ropes tightening.

"Do not struggle, Harry. The ropes will grow tauter every time you move, thus causing you more grief. If you continue to be stubborn, you will soon find yourself choking," Voldemort stated.

As if on cue, the ropes rubbed painfully against Harry's wrists. Comprehending, he stilled himself; at least being bounded was better than getting scraped raw by unbreakable cords.

"Much better," Voldemort said. "Now that you are quiet, we will proceed with our discussion. According to what you said earlier, I am attempting to brainwash you – but I can tell you right now that your point is untrue. You have a mind of your own, and I am not forcefully trying to control it; all I wanted was to make _my_ thoughts known."

Harry remained silent. He wasn't a fool; Voldemort could easily brainwash an individual with mere words… But if so, what was the difference between persuading with a valid argument and brainwashing?

"Secondly, you accused me rudely of being close-minded. Tell me, Harry, if I am as close-minded as you speak of, why are the Mudbloods still alive? If I saw them as nothing but contaminating filth, why are we keeping them alive in a society ruled by myself?" said Voldemort. "True, they _are_ filth and their redeeming qualities are few, but without Mudbloods – say if we gassed them like Hitler did in World War 2 – the number of witches and wizards will disastrously decrease. If I was close-minded and blinded to all perspectives but my own, will I still be able to see the facts?"

"You are no better than Hitler," Harry said.

"I agree, but I am more successful. Hitler committed suicide in his bunker in 1945 when the advancing enemy countries were right on his doorstep. He may have been a brilliant politician, but his passion for Germany and his hatred of the Jews blinded him. He and I are similar in many ways, only I am not as…fiery."

Harry glowered fiercely at the Dark Lord, trying to pierce him with his gaze. "I didn't know you were familiar with _Muggle_ history."

"I am not as close-minded as some people would like to think," Voldemort responded. "We are getting off track. From your sense of justice, would you say the Dark Arts are moral?"

"No," Harry replied definitely. "It's evil."

Voldemort laughed. "What a naive young boy. There is no good and evil, only power and those who are too weak to seek it."

"You're wrong," Harry disagreed. "Good and evil exists. You are the very definition of the latter."

"For those who follow by such a strict set of definitions, the world must be black and white. As much as I would like to consider myself 'evil', I am not. I may be as close to 'evil' as you can get, but even I am not completely 'evil'. For your information, you are not very 'light' or 'good' yourself."

"What do you mean?" Harry cried.

"You are familiar with not only the Dark Arts but also the Unforgivables," Voldemort said. "How hypocritical of you, Harry, to reproach others where you have gone wrong."

Harry spluttered at the accusation. "I've only used the Cruciatus, and only when forced, excluding the one time during the duelling competition."

"You are mistaken; you have used the Dark Arts frequently and for numerous intentions," said Voldemort. "You have developed a disgust for the '_Dark Arts_' when you do not even have a well-defined concept of what they are. The curse you repeatedly used in duels, the Sectumsempra Curse, is dark."

"I thought…" Harry trailed off in frustration. "No one's ever told me."

"Exactly. Why have you never recognised it as a dark curse earlier?" Voldemort said. "Because the light curses can do just as much damage. Dark and light are restricting titles that sort a variety of curses into different categories, when in reality, they blend into each other. There is no telling what you are using is dark or light."

"Most of the dangerous curses are dark," insisted Harry, realising his argument was growing weaker and weaker against Voldemort's. "The effects of lighter curses are relatively milder."

"Ah, Harry, you are learning quickly. Already starting to use '_lighter_' instead of 'light', have we?" Voldemort said. "Lighter curses can be used for bad intentions while the Dark Arts can be acquired for the opposite. Tell me, would you hesitate to kill me with the Killing Curse if it meant you could save your Mudblood friend?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered, doubtfully.

"You will not hesitate. Now tell me, is killing me a moral thing to do?"

"Killing itself is not moral," Harry said. "But –"

"Killing with a good intention is absolutely fine," Voldemort concluded for him. "Thank you, Harry. You've finally transferred to my view of thinking." He snapped his fingers again, and the ropes binding Harry slipped away. "Get back into bed."

"You said you were going to '_teach me a lesson_'," Harry said.

"I've already taught you a lesson, and you have absorbed the contents marvellously well." Voldemort smirked. "I have just remembered; I have important business to deal with. It seems like I will not be staying until nightfall. Enjoy yourself, Harry."

Harry watched Voldemort let himself out with a sinking feeling; he would have been happy to see such a scene, if only the Dark Lord had not taken to '_teaching_' him. He would have been content sticking to his former beliefs, but now…

He sighed in frustration. Had his prior values all been ridiculously naive? Was there really no light and dark? Was it up to an individual to judge whether their actions were moral? Voldemort's twisted truth was really getting to him. Harry wanted nothing more than to dismiss Voldemort's words for garbage, but he knew they were genuine.

Killing was wrong, Harry was sure of that. But he wasn't sure of all the rest. He had used curses from the Dark Arts numerous times. Surely, that didn't make him evil? Was there even such a thing as evil? Harry's mind was a swirling whirlwind that sucked up pieces of information that made no sense.

Should he carry on as he was, or ought he to stick to only the spells known to be classified as light? Would that make any difference if he harmed people using 'light spells'? Would it be just as bad as using the Dark Arts?

Damn Voldemort to the depth of hell, messing with Harry's previously clear mind. Everything was so complicated. Voldemort would force him to learn the Dark Arts whether he liked it or not. Perhaps the only way was to oblige and let his destiny take him.

—0O0—

Voldemort was joined by Severus Snape, who bowed low before him. "How did today go, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord smirked, seeming to be in high spirits. "Perfectly. Harry is confused, as he should be, and he likely will start to react better towards the Dark Arts."

"My Lord, if you do not mind me asking, how did you manipulate him?" Snape inquired.

"By using sound reason and appearing…slightly more human. Harry craves attention, even the attention of his loathed guardian, even if he does not know it yet," said Voldemort. "Soon, Harry will truly be my apprentice."

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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

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	21. The Art of Impressing

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**Thank you so much to those who reviewed and to all those who kindly informed me about the plagiarism. Luckily, the story (thanks to the help of many considerate people) was voluntarily deleted. **

**I hope this chapter is long enough, and I will try to update the next one as fast as I can. **

* * *

"Not only will it be a magnificent opportunity for you to acquaint yourself with powerful witches and wizards, but it will also give you the chance to know my Inner Circle," said Voldemort. "Lucius and Bella have organised everything splendidly, all you will need to do is to be present next week."

Harry sighed in aggravation. "So is this something like a formal dinner party with dances and fancy speeches?"

He had barely been Voldemort's apprentice for five months, and already the Dark Lord was considering parading him in front of his followers?

"You can put it like that," Voldemort agreed. "I will be introducing and familiarising you with my supporters."

There was the confirmation from the dark wizard's own mouth. "No, I don't think so," Harry asserted. "I am too unprepared _and_ inexperienced to fend off your devotees; you have to give me at least another extra twelve weeks."

Voldemort glared dangerously at his ward. "I will be beside you at all times; they will not dare to give you any trouble. You have already put this off for two months; the initial plan was for you to be announced the same time as Daphne, however, you happened _to be unready_… This time you will be ready whether you like it or not."

"You know as well as I do that I am ill-equipped for this, being completely unaware of your Pureblood etiquettes. I'll either embarrass you or I'll embarrass myself. Most likely both," protested Harry. "You cannot be by my side at all times, and I've seen enough of your Death Eaters to gather they're nit-picking savages."

"Well, you will have to defend yourself against these 'nit-picking savages' then, will you not?" Voldemort said indifferently. "Your impertinent words, which you regularly direct at me, can be used to bother those Death Eaters who offend you, if you so wish."

"With Potter as my last name, half of them will be out for my blood," Harry said.

"You will have to prove yourself worthy in front of them," Voldemort responded coolly. "If my apprentice cannot even survive my Death Eaters, then what use will that apprentice be to me?" He strode out, leaving Harry wallowing alone in his weariness.

Harry had been apprentice and ward to Lord Voldemort for a grand total of no more than five months. In that time, he had submitted himself to the Dark Arts, yielding to Voldemort's persistent urgings and his own ghastly temptations. To his dismay, the longer he lingered under the dark wizard's influence the stronger his appetite for dark magic grew, even with him trying desperately to rein it in, until he could withstand against it no longer. Of course, that had delighted Voldemort to no end.

In the five long months, Harry's intense hatred of the Dark Lord too had burned out, leaving behind a grudging acceptance and, as much as Harry didn't care to admit it, a delicate respect for his authority.

Lord Voldemort openly savoured in Harry's new cooperation, displaying slightly more leniency than usual; and as a result, Harry developed the boldness to answer back. Consequently, the banters and verbal spars between the Dark Lord and his apprentice grew more constant than ever. Yet, none of them had ended in Harry being cursed.

If Harry didn't know better, he would say the Dark Lord was growing soft… but that didn't seem remotely likely in his head. His instincts told him Voldemort was planning something big; something vast enough to change his life. He sighed; Voldemort guarded his secrets so tightly that Harry had long ago given up on unearthing them.

His attention shifted onto his latest dilemma: his initiation. Somehow, Harry didn't feel flattered in the least that Voldemort had spent an entire week arranging a formal celebration just for him; it seemed almost like the Dark Lord was gift-wrapping him as a special meal for his vicious Death Eaters.

He muttered a few unintelligible curses under his breath, and placed his head heavily on his fist in exasperation. The Death Eaters were guaranteed to trouble Harry – with him being the last member of a prominent light family and all – and if he wasn't capable of defending himself, they would undoubtedly rip him into shreds. The worst thing being that Voldemort would probably stand aside, perch himself on his throne in the casual position of watching a show, and let the Death Eaters do their worst.

Harry clenched his teeth with a horrible, grinding sound. Life with Lord Voldemort was tiresome; he was sick of being tested all the time and faced with the options of either fighting or perishing. Of course, Harry knew the Dark Lord would never let him die – at least not yet – but a painful injury was a whole new thing.

"Musing, Harry?" said a familiar, calm voice. "By the gloomy expression you are wearing, it looks like it is not going well."

Harry's head immediately spun towards the direction of the portrait hanging on the wall. "Hello, Tom," he replied tiredly. "You're quite right. Voldemort brought some extremely bad news."

Tom Riddle raised his eyebrow and smirked. "Really? From what I have heard, it appears to be extremely _good _news; I have not seen the Dark Lord so thrilled in a long time."

"Thrilled to see me break, you mean," Harry said scathingly. "His servants will literally be the death of me. Do you think he'll be kind enough to give me a proper burial and to place flowers on my grave?"

"Do not be so negative," Tom reprimanded. "The Dark Lord is waiting to see you leave the hall victorious and even prouder than when you entered it."

Harry scoffed derisively. "Oh yeah, that's _definitely_ going to happen, especially when the entire Inner Circle gangs up on me."

"The most powerful members: Bellatrix, Lucius and Severus Snape all know better than to challenge you on such an occasion, and most of the trusted Inner Circle are smarter than to defy Lord Voldemort's budding apprentice," reassured Tom. "If you are going to be resisted, it will be by an underling. Daphne Greengrass was introduced without any difficulty from any of the Death Eaters – perhaps you will have her luck."

As always, Harry felt his temper flare at the mention of Daphne Greengrass' name; it had been bothering him for a long time, a constant source of his aggravation. He had no clue why he loathed the very thought of the elder girl, let alone why he could not endure her presence without gritting his teeth.

Harry had been feeling like an important part of him had gone astray, that something was missing, for months – however, it wasn't until the recent that disconcerting, lucid dreams began haunting his nights. Specific details lingered in his mind even when he woke.

"Oh, I'd love to have _her_ luck… or better yet, her Pureblood elegance, on my side," Harry answered sarcastically. "Tom, just drop it. Voldemort is an obnoxious jerk, and nothing's going to change that – he actually seems to want to see me humiliate myself."

"The Pureblood etiquettes and aristocratic grace can be learned, as long as you get rid of your attitude," Tom sneered. "I believe the Dark Lord is planning on you impressing the Death Eaters with your magical potential, not your mannerisms. However, if you are concerned, I can teach you."

Harry brightened instantly, jerking his head to stare hopefully at Tom. "You will? Are you a Pureblood?"

"Regretfully, I am not one by birth, but as I said before: Pureblood etiquettes can be learned," Tom Riddle said, evenly. "Are you quite sure you wish for me to teach you?

Harry gave a firmly nod. "I'm sure."

A triumphant smile etched sinisterly across Tom Riddle's face as he contemplated Harry's answer, his blue eyes glinting sharply. "Good enough," he said chillingly. "But there is a slight problem." As he said those words, Harry felt the atmosphere drop a few degrees, icing over.

"For me to teach you," Tom Riddle said slowly, "I will have to get out of this frame." His soft, velvety voice draped smoothly over Harry in a protracted whisper. "You can help me achieve that. Come over here."

Harry found himself instantaneously rising and walking sluggishly towards Riddle, as if hypnotised. He halted upon a few inches away from the portrait.

"Lend me a few drops of your blood," Riddle purred silkily. "Spill them onto this portrait."

Harry moved his head dazedly, as if stirring from a dream, and gaped at Tom. "Pardon?" he said.

"Spill a few drops of your blood onto this portrait," Riddle repeated. "I assure you they will not go to waste."

Harry frowned. "Why –?"

"Because," Riddle murmured mildly, "it will assist me in your teaching."

"That's not all," said Harry steadfastly. "I know that's not the whole truth. What do you _truly_ want?"

Tom sighed gently. "In all honesty, the Dark Lord cold-bloodedly entombed me here for decades, subjecting me to a life of compliance and servitude. I can feast my eyes on the world through my many frames, but never touch sense or touch _anything_. If you were me, Harry, would you not want the chance?"

Harry's stiff expression immediately softened, and his lips curled into a hesitant smile; he had never been one to leave an associate unaided. "Of course I'll help. All you had to do was ask."

Without missing a beat, he cast a cutting hex on his own wrist, and stretched towards the portrait, attempting to cup the blood that gushed out.

Watching the beads of dark crimson sinking into the canvas, Tom Riddle smiled intensely. "Harry, how do you feel about finally meeting me in person?"

The next phases astounded Harry to the extent that his mouth dried up. First, the rich colours in Tom's cheeks and clothing faded, and then the rest followed. In next to no time, the entire depiction of Tom Riddle was gone, leaving behind only a barren backdrop.

Harry twisted around and, lo and behold, there stood Tom Riddle behind him, basking in the glory of human flesh.

"Hello, Harry," Tom said, his smile revealing rows of pointed, flawless teeth. On impulse, Harry took a step back. "No need to be scared, Harry. I am not going to harm you."

Recovering from his initial shock, Harry loosened and flashed Tom Riddle a warm grin. "Heavens, I thought your handsomeness was mainly due to the skill of the artist."

"Jealous?" Riddle teased. "You are appallingly naive, Potter, freeing me without _truly_ knowing whether I am friend or foe."

"You're friend," Harry replied immediately.

Riddle scoffed in exasperation. "You are too trusting for your own good."

Harry turned his head for a better look at the boy who had kept him company ever since the time he arrived. Tom's confident poise spoke volumes; commanding respect and flaunting power. No wonder the boy had been considered a prodigious leader in his time.

"If you wish to learn the Pureblood etiquettes, then you must pay attention. All in all, it is merely a simple set of abilities you need to bring forth," Tom said.

Harry looked hesitantly at the older Slytherin who suddenly became very business-like. "Alright…" he said.

"When you are dealing with egotistical elitists, one of the key points is to set out to impress," Tom explained. "If you are intending on treading the dangerous waters of a Pureblood hierarchy, you need to learn how to dress to impress, speak to impress, and act to impress."

Harry arched an inquisitive eyebrow. It seemed he was not cut out to mingle with Purebloods.

"The first thing to focus on would be to enhance and expand your vocabulary," Riddle instructed firmly. "Use the most decorative words in your knowledge, lace your language with sophistication. As laughable as this sound, it tends to impress wizards like Lucius Malfoy rather effectively."

"Please resume, I implore you," Harry uttered, unable to keep a chortle from bursting out.

Riddle acknowledged his attempt with a faint smirk. "That, unfortunately, is just laying it on thick. You will fool no one but inane morons."

"Then, that means it'll fool you just fine," Harry grinned.

"If I am a moron, then what are you?" Tom said coldly. "Secondly, you must dress handsomely; displaying yourself in the most expensive attire the Dark Lord tailored for you. I will make the final decision concerning what you wear."

He opened his mouth wide to protest, "Tom! I'm not a child, I can decide –!"

"Thirdly, you will learn how to _walk_, _stand_ and _sit _properly with the classic Pureblood grace," Tom continued, ignoring Harry's outburst. "And lastly, I will teach you taught how to dine formally."

"Fine," Harry conceded. "_But_, unlike a baby, I _already_ know how to _walk, stand _and_ sit_!"

"Oh, really?" Tom taunted. "See if you can imitate this." He treaded across the room in a manner so elegantly authoritative that it reduced Daphne's style to that of a lurching drunkard.

Harry stared. "You're joking, right? I need to do _that_? Walking is a routine human thing, not some kind of…some kind of _dancing art_."

"Wrong," Tom said disapprovingly. "Surely you have read the Jane Austen's most famous Muggle work, Pride and Prejudice? In one scene, the protagonist, Elizabeth Bennet, is invited to take 'a turn about the room' with Miss Caroline Bingley, and at one point, Miss Caroline Bingley calls out to Mr Darcy, with whom they were talking with, and asked him to join them in their 'refreshing' walk – to which he replied, 'You can only have two motives, and I would interfere with both. Either you are in each other's confidence and have secret affairs to discuss, or you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage by walking. If the first, I should get in your way. If the second, I can admire you much better from here.'"

Harry's mouth was parted by the time the older Slytherin finished; it was incredible how he had quoted the characters without as much as a stumble while Harry hadn't even read the cover of the book.

"This is evidence that the posture and grace of one's walk was significant even in the early nineteenth century, and even to Muggles," Tom Riddle stated. "Harry Potter smoothly gliding in to greet the Death Eaters with Lord Voldemort by his side… think about that. The very sight will ward off many problematic challenges."

"You kind of have to teach it to me before I can do that," Harry pointed out.

"Exactly," Riddle deadpanned. "Stand straight. No, Harry, that is called standing hunchbacked. Make sure your back is in a vertical line."

After three minutes or so of arranging and rearranging himself, Harry was finally permitted to proceed.

"That is enough; barely adequate but it will do," Tom Riddle said impatiently. "Now, hold your head up, _up_. Not in that exaggerated manner… and try to project a little self-confidence. Try _never _to loose your composure."

Harry could feel his back starting to ache, being strained in such a peculiar position; he honestly felt more like a stick than a human. He also felt absurd; he just couldn't, for the life of him, figure out how looking like a pretentious imbecile would help with his situation at all.

"When you are speaking with a Death Eater, make sure you are neither looking down your nose at him _nor_ looking levelly at him; something between the two would satisfy," Tom Riddle directed. "Looking down at him would trigger feelings of resentment you do not want while looking _straight_ at him would suggest you consider him your equal. On the other hand, you _must not _look at the Dark Lord in that way."

Harry nodded, storing the information into his head. According to Tom Riddle, it would seem reading body language was particularly convenient in the realm of Purebloods.

"When you are walking, keep your pace consistent and maintain a more measured pace that implies dignity and purpose. Remember to keep your body posture when you are walking. Aim to glide, not saunter."

Attempting to wrap his head around everything that had been said, Harry struggled to convert the words into actions. He moved smoothly through the bedroom in that dominant stance, hoping that he didn't look_ too_ idiotic, and when he faced Tom Riddle again, he saw that the older boy was smiling smugly.

"Not too bad," Riddle drawled. "Congratulations, you have conquered the Pureblood walk. Next, we shall turn to dining."

"Okay," Harry said, bracing himself for the overwhelming information that was to come.

"On a dinner table, especially during a twenty-course dinner such as the one the Dark Lord is preparing, there will be over twenty utensils, with soup spoons, oyster forks, salad forks, dessert spoons, dinner knives and more. Utensils will be placed precisely one inch away from the plate, the knives and spoons placed to the right and forks placed to the left," Tom Riddle said. "Glasses are located above the knives in the order of left to right: water goblet, white wine glass, red wine glass and champagne flute. You will find your napkin on your plate, and it is best if you lay it on your lap as soon as you sit."

"Hang on a minute," Harry protested. "I can't keep up with you."

Glaring in disdain, Riddle slowed down. "You cannot possibly remember the names of all the spoons, forks and knives. The next best option is to work your way from the outside inwards, use the utensils furthest away from you and work your way in."

Harry nodded stiffly as if in pain from processing Tom's words. "Okay… I think I get it," he said reluctantly.

Riddle frowned intimidatingly at him. "You should _never_ slurp your soup or talk with your mouth full, if you do not know already."

"Thanks for the reminder," Harry remarked dryly. "I do think I understand."

"Very well," Tom Riddle retorted. "Then I beg you not to make a fool out of yourself. As for the rest… you can only rely on your own power."

—0O0—

In precisely one week's time, Harry was perched in front of a mirror and marvelling at the imposingly magnificent robes his reflection sported. The robes were of a very dark shade of stunning green with slender black snakes embellishing the rims.

In addition, Harry was donning a _beautiful_ black cape, as smooth to the touch as a river of silk. Tom had forced him to wear the cape, insisting that with the fabric being so light; it would flutter at the slightest waft of wind, thus enhancing Harry's splendour.

With the formal dinner party being only half an hour away, Harry was beginning to lose his nerve. He had never been comfortable dwelling in the midst of a large crowd. Hoping that Voldemort wasn't expecting him to make a speech, he got up from his place in front of the mirror.

"Tom?" Harry said. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Tom mimicked. Hearing the mocking undertone, Harry whirled around and scowled at the portrait. It was a pity, really, that his blood had only managed to keep Tom in human flesh temporarily. Tom Riddle was back to being a portrait.

"Whatever," Harry muttered. "Bye." He strode out the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

How…excellent; meeting Voldemort and then accompanying him to launch the dinner party. It seemed this would be another torturous night.

—0O0—

The guests sat in their prearranged seating, anticipating the arrival of the Dark Lord and his apprentice. The settling darkness was only lifted marginally by the crystal chandelier suspended high above the white-clothed tables, and the ignited candles espousing flames.

Suddenly, moving out from amongst the darkness was Lord Voldemort himself, dressed in a wafting black cloak and standing assertively in all his radiance. Escorting him was a young, raven-haired boy whose bearing was no less fluid.

Indeed, the young boy carried himself in a manner unseen for his age, stepping with his head held high and casting an aura of supremacy into the atmosphere. This display rendered many of those who previously scorned the boy speechless.

At the sight of the pair, every attending guest in the room got up and respectfully bowed in unison, chanting, "All hail the Dark Lord!"

Harry saw Voldemort direct a smirk at him that spoke volumes. He felt the Dark Lord lean towards him subtly and breathe into his ear, "This is my reign, Harry, mine to govern and rule. If you join forces with me, it will one day be yours."

With that, Lord Voldemort stepped up and scanned the crowd intensely. "Welcome, my loyal followers to the initiation of my young apprentice. His capacity for greatness is undeniable, but there are many of you here tonight who _do_ deny it."

If Harry had not seen it for himself, he would never have understood how so many people could tense under the words of one man.

"But it has become evident that his obstinacy is ruinous, and that he has countless things to learn," said Voldemort, smiling. "Therefore, I hope you will test him, challenge him, converse with him, familiarise yourself with him. I have no doubts he needs the experience."

Harry could not believe his ears – Voldemort was opening _inviting_ Death Eaters to challenge him! He was on familiar terms with the dark wizard's wicked tactics, so he should never have been surprised; it seemed this evening was about to plummet downhill before it even began.

"Duel with him and test his magical strength for yourselves," Voldemort said. "Appease your curiosities, and you shall receive no objections from me."

Supressing a feral growl that threatened to emerge from his throat, Harry glared daggers at his guardian. He was not going to let this affair pass; he would make Voldemort regret this.

"Seeing as tonight is first and foremost a dinner party, you may go and dine at the dining table whenever you so wish." The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and at least thirty house elves appeared before Harry's eyes, carrying large plates on which lay various foods. "The house elves have cooked a marvellous dinner for all of us, and it will be rude to let it go to waste."

"When you require something – be it wine, drinks, juices, you may summon a house elf," Voldemort advised. "Those of you who want to speak to me about important issues may do so anytime during the party. I wish all of you a lovely time."

With that, the celebration began. And Harry snuck away into the shadows.

Still maintaining the elegant posture, Harry inwardly groaned as he paced the glooms; damn Voldemort. Yearning for a bit of peace, he avoided large groups and made his way to the most isolated area in the hall.

Unfortunately, luck seemed to have abandoned him when he needed it most. To his displeasure, he almost collided with Draco Malfoy.

"Hey, watch it!" Malfoy snarled, seeing it was a child his own age. Harry watched in amusement as Draco Malfoy automatically took a step back when he realised exactly who it was.

"Hello, Malfoy," Harry said. "I didn't know they allowed children in."

The blonde boy blushed the shade of a beetroot. "All high and mighty now that you're the Dark Lord's apprentice? I wonder whether you'll still be so arrogant if he whips you like Professor Carrow did. You deserve it, you pathetic nuisance."

Harry froze for a second before retorting, "Is that the best you've got, Malfoy? You realise your father's new job is to tutor that pathetic nuisance while giving him full respect?"

Draco growled like an angered dog. "My father is serving the Dark Lord _not_ you!"

"Voldemort _ordered_ your father to serve me," Harry corrected sweetly. "And I must say… Lucius Malfoy does his job well. He is ever so polite." That taunt seemed to have hit the mark, because Draco looked like he was about to prance forward and punch Harry in the nose.

"At least I _have _a father, _and_ a mother, at that. _Your_ parents are dead!" Draco spat spitefully. "Go back on the streets, orphan!"

As babyish as the remark was, Harry couldn't help but feel a pang in his heart. He was beginning to that feel the argument was pointless. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Malfoy. Now if you don't mind excusing me…"

To Harry's irritation, Draco moved to block his way, seeming to mistake his maturity for defeat. "Don't go, Potter, unless you're a coward."

"I've been learning quite a few dark curses with Voldemort. If you want a taster, then by all means, continue blocking my way," Harry warned. "Or, you can publically challenge me to a duel."

Malfoy involuntarily removed himself from Harry's path, before saying, "I don't think you'll get off so easily. Look who is coming."

Harry twirled around to see a young man with a rather scarred face steadily approaching him. "Hello," he greeted civilly. "May I help you?" Then, remembering Tom Riddle's advice, he held his head higher until he was almost looking down at the man.

"Harry Potter…" the young man murmured. "How did you ever get chosen by the Dark Lord? I do not mean to offend… but you are no one extraordinary."

"None taken," Harry replied lightly, inwardly surprised at the blunt rudeness. "But perhaps you ought to ask the Lord Voldemort. I have no idea what he was thinking when he picked his apprentices."

The man's expression darkened considerably. "The Dark Lord has brought up a rather proud apprentice," he commented jokily. "In your _own_ opinion, are you something special?"

Harry grew continuously more piqued by the wizard's jabbing remarks. "In my opinion, only the Dark Lord's opinion counts; it would be rude of me to contradict if _he_ considers me special. If I may ask, what is your name?" It was probably safer to stick to the more formal language.

"I'm Barty Crouch," the man said. "And I will be honoured if you'll grace me with a duel."

Harry felt his heart sink; he was hoping he could get through the evening without any of these challenges. Maybe he should just refuse, and tell Voldemort later that he never said Harry couldn't decline. "Are you a member of Lord Voldemort's Inner Circle?" Harry asked tensely.

"Yes. Shall we proceed?"

Cursing Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Harry nodded against his will.

**...**

_First entertainment tonight_, Harry thought grimly as he faced Barty Crouch. He could see Voldemort sitting at the head of the dining table, engaging Bellatrix in a conversation. He could _also _see Voldemort's eyes swerving sharply in his direction to see whether the duel had started yet. Several others were doing the same. And the rest were just blatantly watching.

Seeing Barty Crouch bow, he bowed back; it wouldn't do for the Dark Lord to become irked simply because he didn't follow the usual courtesies.

"Harry Potter… you may deliver the first blow." Barty smirked. "After all, it would impress on me badly if I act ungraciously to a child."

Is this what Barty was planning? Categorising him as a child before beating him in a humiliating defeat? Harry's fist clenched tighter around his wand. "If you are sure…"

He reacted, striking like a venomous viper. Twirling his wand easily in his hand, Harry shot several Sectumsempra curses at Barty, not hesitating to see the wizard blockade them before firing the next volley.

Harry continued the bombardment – always with the Sectumsempra and never pausing, even briefly. His stamina did not fail him.

So far, Barty seemed to be faring rather well, either dodging curses or magically shielding himself. But Harry knew he wouldn't remain forever in the defensive position. A few minutes later proved his estimation to be accurate when Barty suddenly thwarted an entire line of curses and sent all of them flying back towards Harry.

As luck would have it, Harry was already one step ahead. He ducked beneath them and, unseen by Barty, slipped one little spell under disguise sailing towards him. Barty didn't even detect it.

Now unlimited by Harry's persistent barrages, Barty rose to an entirely new duelling level, flinging a wide variety of spells at him – dark spells, light spells, prank spells, first-year spells. Harry, out of his depth, was left struggling to keep up.

If he had tried to duel Barty Crouch five months ago, he would have been knocked out within five minutes; his skill and cunning had dramatically improved.

When everything seemed to be drawing to an end, when Barty was on the verge of finishing him off, Harry sent a stunning curse at him. Time seemed to slow as the Death Eater leapt over it – or at least tried to. His shoes had been tied together, and he fell shamefully right on top of the spell.

Harry had taken a page out of Draco's book. It might not have been a praiseworthy method, but Crouch had been defeated in the most humiliating way possible.

The rest of the evening, much to Harry's surprise, passed smoothly.

—0O0—

A few hours later, in Voldemort's office, Harry was throwing a miniature temper tantrum.

"Still feeling angry, Harry?" the Dark Lord asked silkily, offering him a plateful of biscuits.

"_No_ – I mean I don't want any of your biscuits," Harry said, utterly livid. "_Angry?_ I'm outraged. I cannot believe it." He gnashed his teeth.

"Calm down, Harry. You are ever the drama queen, making a mountain out of a molehill," said Voldemort calmly, behaving as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

"You practically dumped a whole nest of Death Eaters on my head. Luckily, only Barty Crouch apparently seemed to have a taste for my blood," Harry barked.

"Oh, I know many who would love to bleed you to death," Voldemort replied flippantly. "Your performance unnerved them. I need to congratulate you on your new elegance, by the way. It _was_ rather impressive."

Harry was in no mood for the light talk. "I_ thank_ you for your compliments," he responded sarcastically.

"You are always welcome, Harry."

Harry fell silent, too angry for words. He was seriously tempted to trash Voldemort's office and to hurl all the priceless possessions against the wall, but even in the haze of redness he understood that if he ever did something even remotely similar, the dark wizard would make him regret it. It was likely that Voldemort's temper was already running short.

"Sulking like a little child, Harry?" Voldemort asked, provoking him further. "That seems extremely unlike you."

"I _am_ a child!" he snapped. "You made me grow up too fast!"

There was a faint rustling from behind one of the ancient cabinets and a heated hiss. Voldemort sighed in exasperation. "Perhaps you should consider lowering your voice if you do not want to receive a bite from a viper."

A second later, an enormous snake with onyx coloured scales slithered out. Harry watched incredulously as Voldemort stretched out a hand and the snake tenderly bumped its head against it.

"_Masster, who is this sickening piece of human filth? He sspeaks like a Sonorus Charm gone wrong_," the snake hissed.

"Thank you so _very_ much," Harry said sharply. "But I do not need a talking snake insulting me."

The look of shock on Voldemort's normally impassive face was enough to make Harry forget completely about his bad temper.

"What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

For the first time in his life, Harry saw the Dark Lord looking so staggered that he had to pause before giving him an answer. "You can speak," Voldemort said in disbelief.

"Yes, I can…" Harry answered hesitantly, bemused.

Lord Voldemort's expression immediately darkened in a way so ominous that Harry took a shaky step back. "Oh?" he asked threateningly. "Tell me, Harry, why did you not inform me of this earlier?"

Harry stumbled around for words he did not have. The sudden changes in atmosphere caught him completely by surprise. "What…what do you mean?"

"What I mean is," Voldemort pronounced dangerously, "is why did you choose to hide this from me?" The dark tone promised Harry a foreboding future, and he realised he might just be cursed for the first time by Voldemort's hand.

"I haven't hidden _anything_!" he cried.

"You liar," the Dark Lord hissed. "You _will _tell me everything I want to know and more. Harry, meet my familiar, Nagini." With a mere gesture from Voldemort, the giant black snake wound itself so harshly around Harry that he was temporarily silenced by the discomfort.


	22. Nurmengard

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.**_  
_

**I'm so sorry about the late update! I recently started at a new school and the difference in the amount of homework overwhelmed me a bit. I never realised until now exactly how free I was!**

**Anyway, for those who are interested, there's probably one more chapter to go until the story officially closes. But there will be a sequel... and it'll either be called Fire Crux or Dawn Crux.**

**Spoiler: Dumbledore is not quite dead.**

* * *

_Lord Voldemort's expression immediately darkened in a way so ominous that Harry took a shaky step back. "Oh?" he asked threateningly. "Tell me, Harry, why did you not inform me of this earlier?"_

_Harry stumbled around for words he did not have. The sudden changes in atmosphere caught him completely by surprise. "What…what do you mean?"_

_"What I mean is," Voldemort pronounced dangerously, "is why did you choose to hide this from me?" The dark tone promised Harry a foreboding future, and he realised he might just be cursed for the first time by Voldemort's hand._

_"I haven't hidden anything!" he cried. _

_"You liar," the Dark Lord hissed. "You _will_ tell me everything I want to know and more. Harry, meet my familiar, Nagini." With a mere gesture from Voldemort, the giant black snake wound itself so harshly around Harry that he was temporarily silenced by the discomfort. _

* * *

Harry automatically froze as the scales of the intimidating beast contacted his skin. The coldness alone made him shudder. But as the snake carried out the commands of its master, he stirred from his stupor and resisted violently.

Thrashing didn't help in the least. If anything, the snake squeezed even more forcefully than before, crushing him like a defenceless mouse in its tight hold.

A soft moan emitted from Harry's lips as his knees buckled and he collided with the cruelly approaching floor.

Upon hitting his head, he choked out a strangled cry and clawed at the great serpent, aware he was being slowly suffocated. His eyes watered agonisingly and his throat felt raw.

"If you are ready, Harry, we will begin." Voldemort's cool voice washed over him. "I will ask the questions and you will answer them. My snake will be the witness."

"No…" he rasped in protest, wincing at the grating sound of his own voice. "I haven't done _anything_."

"No?" the Dark Lord asked. "I am quite certain –"

"I'm not lying!" he insisted stridently, slightly breathless. He hated the vulnerable position he was in; utterly at Voldemort's mercy.

"You will not interrupt me, Harry. Next time you will regret it." Voldemort's voice was like steel – cold and hard. "Tell me, have you always had this… _gift?_"

"_What_ gift?" He gasped for air, attempting to pacify himself while Lord Voldemort's expression grew ever more menacing. The sharp, indignant mystification in Harry's words rung out vibrantly.

"Harry, I do not possess a fondness for repeating myself," Voldemort murmured frostily. "If you wish to make this easier for yourself, you will tell the truth, and if not… I will have to drag it out of you; we have all night."

Harry closed his eyes in despair; this was a nightmare. "I _honestly_ don't know what you're talking about. I _am _telling the truth, I swear!"

"I know you are not a fool, you know you are not a fool. Surely, there is no point in feigning any further," the Dark Lord said brusquely. "Your continuing pretence is unbecoming." He reached out a hand and petted the black viper on the nose. "I will ask you again: how long have you retained this gift?"

"I _told _you! I don't know!" Harry shouted in sheer infuriation. At the injustice and ill-treatment, his defiance was returning to him, engulfing his puzzlement. It was almost as though Voldemort was deaf; he was so _dreadfully _livid that none of Harry's words seemed to reach his ears.

Voldemort drew his wand from his sleeve, twirling it meaningfully, before aiming it aloofly at Harry's heaving chest. "You have one more chance."

"What the_ hell_ is wrong with you? I'm sorry, but I haven't done _anything!_"

Voldemort's patience had finally drawn to an end, smashed to smithereens by Harry's final disrespect. He glanced impassively at the viper and hissed an order, _"Nagini, tighten."_

Alarmingly, Harry felt a rush of pain as the pressure on his middle increased in intensity. "No, don't, _please!_" The plea slipped out before he could stop himself.

Remarkably, the beseeching words had an effect on Lord Voldemort, who hesitated for the slightest of moments – then, he raised his hand and gestured for Nagini to halt. "_Wait_."

_"Master, the insolent boy…he needss to be taught a lesson_,_"_ Nagini hissed in displeasure, unwillingly loosening her coils around Harry. _"Preferably a memorable one."_

Harry, who lay there shocked by Voldemort's change of mind, flinched involuntarily when Nagini brushed a chiding tongue over his cheek. "_Senselessss little human-snakeling, speaking out of turn. Control your temper around Master," _she admonished softly.

"She is quite right," Voldemort said, quietly. He seemed to have gotten over worst of his temper in a matter of seconds. "It will end badly for you if you provoke me all the time."

"I don't mean to…" was all Harry could manage.

"That much is obvious," remarked the Dark Lord dryly. "It is your uncultivated temper."

"I didn't lie!" Harry quickly put in. "I_ really_ have no idea what's going on."

Voldemort's wand hand twitched in response, as if he was itching to grab his wand again and hex him. It gave Harry the terrible impression that he still did not believe him.

_"Master…" _Nagini interjected in a tender hiss. _"Perhapss the boy is speaking the truth? Surely, he hasss no reason to conceal this from you. He may truly not know of Parseltongue." _The female viper turned her head in his direction. _"How long have you been able to talk with serpents?"_

Harry frowned at the question. _"I can't talk to snakes." _

Nagini flicked her tail in emphasise as she responded, _"You are talking to me right now – in my own language. How long have you been able to understand snakesss?"_

Recoiling as if he had been physically struck, Harry gazed at Nagini with a horror-stricken expression in his eyes. _"You are the first talking snake I've met."_

He saw the black viper trade a meaningful glance with Voldemort._ "Have you even seen a live snake before?_" she questioned.

Harry nodded in indignation. _"Of course! And none of them were able to talk!"_

_"It seemsss he knowss not, Master," _Nagini hissed, slowly circling Harry while Voldemort stood quite still with a musing expression. "It would seem so," the Dark Lord murmured, in English.

A sudden burble of laughter rose unexpectedly up Harry's throat, a mixture of relief and lingering annoyance, and he had to bite his tongue to force it down; somehow, he didn't think Voldemort would appreciate it.

"Hmm…" Voldemort's eyes narrowed into slits as he contemplated. "It appears there has been a _slight_ misunderstanding."

Sighing lightly, Harry inclined his head, knowing that this was the closest thing to an apology he would ever receive from his guardian. "I agree."

"I'm sure you do," came the velvety tease. "Perhaps had you not provoked me so waywardly, I would not have reacted so ruthlessly. I will find dig out every shard of information concerning this new discovery… but not tonight. Tonight, all our tempers wear thin and it is in your best interest to depart."

Still reeling from the events and now gaping at the dismissal, Harry secretly loathed being tossed around by Voldemort's unpredictable moods. But what he to do?  
With his nails jabbing fiercely in his palms, he wordlessly retreated from the office and closed the door soundlessly behind him, quashing the impulse of slamming it as hard as he could. Harry hovered a few moments outside before heading for his own bedroom.

_**...**_

"Bad evening? Your expression can curdle fresh milk." Tom's voice followed Harry the instant he stormed into the room. "Thanks for the compliment," he answered wryly. "If you must know, it all went perfectly fine until the last hour."

"Let me guess…" Tom said dryly. "Dark Lord problems?"

Harry shut his eyes. "Is it really _that_ obvious?"

"Diplomatic answer or honest answer? You wear your emotions on your sleeve. It is so piteous that few words in my vocabulary are capable of describing –"

"Great," Harry interrupted. "Next time, _don't _answer. I was technically asking a rhetorical question."

"Pity, I was hoping for banter," Tom Riddle remarked. "If my humble opinion is wanted…Your foul mood needs to be cured. Do you wish for _real_ company?"

Plopping himself onto his bed, Harry gave a weary nod. "Yes, that'd be great. I'm –" Before he had even finished speaking, the figure in the portrait was gone, replaced by a very genuine Tom who strolled towards him.

"You can roam free now?" Harry asked, in surprise.

"Anytime I fancy," Tom Riddle confirmed, with a charming smile. "The frame can no longer limit me."

"Well, that's good news," he muttered. "I thought I'd have to bleed myself to death every time you come out. Thank heaven for small mercies."

"Harry, I owe you," Tom said seriously, stepping closer. "Your drops of blood have freed me for ever. I am no more a mere portrait; I am a mastermind in flesh, blood and bones."

The words touched Harry more than he imagined they would. "Ever the modest," he joked. "You're welcome. But why do you keep insisting on returning to the portrait?"

"Appearances need to be kept up," Tom Riddle replied simply. "One day I will take my leave, and on that day, the Dark Lord will realise I am a formidable foe."

"You think you can defy Voldemort?" Harry gaped openly. "Tom –!"

"I _know_ I can flout his decrees, those laws of which I have no regard for," Riddle stated chillingly, his eyes flashing. "The _mighty_ Lord Voldemort has bitten off more than he can chew."

"Tom…" Harry trailed off anxiously, unsure of what to say. And so, no more was said on the subject.

"Resisting the Dark Lord, as tempting as it sounds, is for the future. For now… I want to know your impression of me, Harry Potter."

Harry came to a standstill. "What _I_ think of _you? _Umm…you're a genius, brilliant minded, manipulative – and don't you dare pretend you're not – charming, arrogant, ruthless, and you make a magnificent teacher."

"It is good to hear such a high opinion of me. I take it you like me very much?" Tom said sincerely.

Snorting, Harry shook his head in exasperation, knowing the older boy probably took 'manipulative', 'arrogant' and 'ruthless' as compliments. "I like you, Tom, seeing as I have no other companion. Happy now?"

"Very happy." Riddle smirked in his habitual triumphant way. "So, are you going to tell me what caused your horrible mood?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry explained briefly, "Voldemort held me responsible for not informing him that I can speak snake tongue."

"Parseltongue?" Tom said softly, a small smile dancing on his lips. "How surprising… you can speak Parseltongue now."

"What do you mean by 'can speak Parseltongue _now_'?" Harry asked sharply, his brain picking up the implication in the sentence. "How did _you_ know I've never spoken it before?"

Tom arched his eyebrows. "I didn't know. It was a slip of the tongue." Harry stared at him disbelievingly, detecting a lie. "Yeah, right."

"Go to bed now, Harry. It is a big day tomorrow."

He gritted his teeth, irked at the nonchalant way Tom dismissed him – it held a certain resemblance to Voldemort's dismissal.

—0O0—

The first thing in the morning was Potions. Harry was currently sitting on a wooden chair beside Daphne Greengrass, waiting impatiently for the arrival of Severus Snape.

"So, Harry, you had your initiation yesterday? How did it go?" Daphne asked, soft as velvet.

"Very smoothly," he ground out. Daphne's sickly sweet voice set his teeth on edge – it was like a syrupy poison that seeped into his brain, interrupting his line of thought.

"I heard Barty Crouch challenged you to a duel. He's a member of the Inner Circle," Daphne said, inspecting Harry's face thoroughly. "Yet you won." She smiled pleasantly.

He nearly gagged out of disgust. "I did, with trickery and not power, unfortunately."

"All the more admirable."

Luckily, he was rescued by Snape's dramatic entrance. The professor swept into the room in a flurry of billowing robes, and at last, stood in front of them with a disapproving expression. "As you know, the Dark Lord has not been feeling his best in the last week or so. This is the reason you will be taking the day off after this lesson, when you should have been studying with him."

Harry had no idea that Voldemort had been ill, but he was delighted to discover it had earned him a free day.

"Today, we will be brewing the Animagus Revelare Draft; a potion that can, if concocted correctly, reveal the form of your Animagus," Snape explained, with a curl of the lip.

"Excuse me, Professor, but what is an Animagus?" Harry inquired. From the corner of his eye, he saw Daphne Greengrass suppressing a scoff, a movement which only aided to fuel his annoyance towards her.

"An Animagus is a wizard who can morph into an animal at will. Your Animagus form can only be one particular species and so remain that permanently. This potion merely shows you what animal will become your Animagus."

Harry felt a shiver of excitement pass across his shoulder blades; all of a sudden he could not wait to start. He wondered what shape he would take – whether it would be stag, lion, eagle or something entirely different.

"The list of ingredients is on the board, and you will find the required items in the cupboards. If you succeed, you may test it in your leisure time, and you will leave empty-handed if you fail. The effects of the potion will last one hour at maximum. Begin."

Glancing curtly at the board, Harry gathered the ingredients as speedily as he could and immediately went to work.

He approached each step in the instructions with the utmost caution, afraid he would ruin the potion while administering each component with precise fingers.

Roughly two hours later, Harry had carefully poured his potion into a glass flask. It was the proper colour stated in the instructions: a swirling blend of purple and gold. He smiled in anticipation.

"It appears both your potions have been correctly made. Of course, you will find out later whether you failed at this simple assignment when you drink it later," Snape said, after closely examining the liquids. "Dismissed."

Grinning, Harry harvested his potion, pocketed the reward and cast a Protection Charm on it, to prevent the flask from shattering. He would drink it later in the day.

—0O0—

Behind the iron gates, loomed an ancient stronghold, a grim fortress cold and forbidding. Tall walls shielded the isolated territory from sunlight. The words _'For the Greater Good_' was carved in spidery letters across the barred entrance.

Dark clouds circled the prison, ever vigilant from the sky above. No birds sang, no animals roamed. Only the rustling of neighbouring trees could be heard whispering, sharply contrasting against the silent background. The dead trunk of a crooked oak symbolised the horror and bleakness behind the gates.

In the highest tower stood a grey and barren room, a great cell, with two stone beds, ragged, thin blankets, a petite hole for a window, and dangling chains. Collared to the fortress without even the faintest taste of freedom, were two of the most powerful wizards ever known to history. Rather than killed, the two sorcerers were allowed to live in a display of bitter irony.

As secure as Azkaban, Nurmengard was a prison built in Germany in the height of Grindelward's power. The two residing wizards – who had once been childhood friends – were no other than Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore, once the glorified Light Lord, was now a hunched figure in dirtied robes that held only a hint of the bright colours he wore long ago. His wand, dignity, power had all been stripped from him. The school and the society that he had battled to protect were at the mercy of Dark Lord Voldemort.

His loyal Order members were dead, and those who weren't suffered terribly at the hands of Voldemort. It had been three years; three years since he had failed those he loved, three years since the Dark Lord had claimed supreme power and final victory, three years since he had lost everything.

Once in a month, Lord Voldemort would pay him a visit. The purpose was to inform him of all the changes that happened in the wizarding world in that time. It was amusement to the Dark Lord to see the great Albus Dumbledore break down.

To the rest of the world, Dumbledore was dead. Voldemort had spread the news of his death as vastly as he could. Yes, to the rest of the world, Albus Dumbledore was dead. Perhaps he was dead even to himself. He wasn't the serene Headmaster of Hogwarts anymore. All the torture, all the pain of seeing Voldemort wield dominant power had done that to him. In the prevailing grief, he was now ready to do anything to bring Voldemort down. If only the opportunity was handed to him, he would seize it and do all in his power to _fix _everything.

'Everything' included re-igniting the friendship with Gellert Grindelwald, a renowned past dark wizard. Together, Dumbledore knew, they could eventually escape and shock the wizarding world. They had different ideals, but they would settle that once Voldemort was vanquished.

Out of the blue, footsteps approached. Death Eaters.

The door to the cell was thrown open and a slender figure was roughly thrust in by the Death Eaters.

"Treacherous woman," one of Voldemort's followers snarled. "The Dark Lord ought to have ordered this long ago." And then they left as soon as they came, seemingly eager to finish their mission.

Dumbledore saw Grindelwald getting up to welcome their new inmate, but he chose to remain in the little sliver of light emerging from the window.

He heard the woman gasp, followed by a familiar voice that brought tears to his eyes. _"Albus!_" she cried. "After all these years of believing you were dead, to think we would reunite here!"

"It is good to see you too, my old friend. Meet Gellert Grindelwald, Minerva."

—0O0—

"What?" Harry gasped in outrage as he paced his bedroom. "Tom! Are you certain you saw her in _chains?_"

"What do you not understand from the word 'chains'? They dragged her to see the Dark Lord," Tom Riddle affirmed, cutting Harry's hopes short. "She has been taken prisoner."

"For _what reason_?"

"Meeting with underground organisations that resist against the Dark Lord, and maintaining the cover of serving him while committing crimes behind his back."

"Professor McGonagall was _not_ serving him!"

"Whether she was serving the Dark Lord or not, your professor was arrested for treason. If something does not change she will either spend the rest of her life in the prison or she will be executed."

"Executed?" Harry repeated, utterly horrified. "Voldemort will kill her?"

"That is one possible outcome," Riddle answered lightly.

"The merciless, revolting, obnoxious scum of a viper!" A string of vibrant curse words quickly followed. "I cannot believe how low he can go! I suppose he wasn't planning on telling me any of this?"

"I do not believe so," Tom Riddle answered.

Harry lashed out at his bed in overwhelming anger. "She's my professor. I can't just step aside and let her stay there."

"Who do you think you are?" Tom asked. "A knight in shining armour, the world's little hero or a boy with saviour tendencies?"

"None of those. I only want to get Professor McGonagall out of there."

"Already planning a rescue mission, are you? Or are you preparing to rush in without a plan?"

"I have no time to argue with you. Are you going to help me?" Harry asked. When his question was greeted by silence, his shoulders sagged. "I should have known you'd only do something when it benefits you. Since _you_ won't help, I'll ask Voldemort to release her."

"He will not," Tom said plainly. "If he has his own reasons for wanting her caged, nothing you say will change his mind. It will serve as a warning to tighten the security on you."

"Then what do_ you_ propose?"

"That we stay here and do nothing."

Harry glared daggers at Tom Riddle. "That's out of the question."

"Pity you will not get anything done without me," Riddle sneered. "You do not even know where she is held captive."

"Tom," he pleaded. "Will you please help me? Just this once?"

"No," came the firm, unmoving answer.

"How can you be so ungrateful?" Harry said incredulously. "I gave you your freedom. Won't you return the favour?"

"What makes you think I have the capacity to free your professor?" Tom said. "More importantly, what makes you think I am willing to risk the detection of my newfound freedom?"

"I can promise you that if I get caught, nothing about your participation will get out," Harry swore.

"Oh?" Tom raised an eyebrow. "What if the Dark Lord tortures you with the intent of finding out how you freed McGonagall?"

"Tom, please…"

"Fine," he said, surprising Harry by abruptly agreeing. "We make a bargain. One favour for another. You owe me a favour."

Harry smothered an urge to inform Tom that he had already done him a favour by letting him out of the painting. "Alright," he said, instead. "Let's start making plans, then."

"No," Tom Riddle declined. "We leave right now and take Lord Voldemort by surprise. It will work to our greatest advantage. Your professor will be held in Nurmengard, a prison in Germany. The quickest route is to apparate directly into the fortress."

"There will be wards. Not only those set in the prison but also those set here."

"I have my ways," Tom said mysteriously. "Take my arm."

Before Harry could even react, he found himself clutching Tom's arm for dear life as they spun crazily in what seemed to be richly coloured fog.

The next moment, he was retching all over the floor. Strangely, everything was dark, and his eyes took a while to adjust. When he had emptied all his stomach's contents, he saw a figure next to him. It was Tom.

"We are here. Inside their cells," Riddle declared. "I recommend you hurry."

"I know, I know!" In Harry's haste, he never realised Tom Riddle had used 'their' instead of 'her'.

"Mr Potter!" McGonagall's shocked voice nearly startled him out of his skin. "What on _earth_ are you doing here, Mr Potter? You must go back at once! Do you understand how reckless this is – what if the Dark Lord catches you?"

"What about _you?"_ Harry replied. "What if you are executed?"

"Mr Potter," McGonagall said quickly. "I will be here temporarily for treason, however, it is nothing serious. You are exaggerating the possibilities –"

"I was worried," he interrupted. "You need to get out of here."

"Who is this visitor, Minerva?" Another voice came out of the darkness. "Will you introduce us?"

Harry leapt back in astonishment, having not expected another person.

"Albus, this is Mr Potter, a first year Slytherin student. Harry, here is the Albus Dumbledore I was telling you about, leader of the Order of the Phoenix," McGonagall said, in a clipped tone.

"You're Professor Dumbledore?" Eyes widening in amazement, Harry glanced at the old man who was walking towards him and offering his hand.

"I am. Although I am no longer a professor," the old wizard chuckled. "So, my boy, you're Harry?"

Somehow, he had not imagined the organiser behind the Light's movements to be a wizened old man. Dumbledore, according to McGonagall, had been _killed_ by Voldemort. Harry caught a glimpse of the wizard's unkempt clothing; beneath all the soil and dirt, there seemed to be an interesting pattern of blue, violet and green.

Even without being told, Harry thought he could guess at what had happened. Voldemort, having informed the entire wizarding world of Albus Dumbledore's death, confined him in the cells of Nurmengard.

There was a twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes that Harry spotted regardless of the darkness. It looked like an undying flare that had always been there; a flare of hope.

"It's an honour to meet you, Professor. It was an amazing thing you did," Harry said, shaking the presented hand. "You must have been here a long time."

"Old age has crippled me and imprisonment has taken its toll. It is I who should be honoured to meet _you_. The future generation is all we have –"

"Albus," McGonagall interjected in a harsh tone, "are you going to introduce your friend?"

"Oh," Dumbledore claimed in surprise. "Of course! How rude of me. Gellert, please, I want you to meet Harry Potter."

At those words, another man stepped out from the gloom. There were dark shadows under his brown eyes but a jolly smile played on his lips. "Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Mr Grindelwald," Harry greeted politely. He was slightly distracted by McGonagall's glacial expression as she observed them. It seemed almost as if she was dreadfully upset about something.

"Lovely manners, Harry. Something the Dark Lord demanded, no doubt," Grindelwald praised, grinning with a mouthful of yellowing teeth.

_"Pardon?"_

"I do recall Lord Voldemort telling us, merely a few months ago, that he selected two Hogwarts students as apprentices. I suppose you're one of them," Grindelwald said. "He left poor Albus quite speechless with anger."

Harry felt a gust of air on his right as Tom Riddle moved forward. "This is all very touching…although there may be a better time for this," he said, a subtle sneer in his tone. "Since _Professor Dumbledore_ is alive, perhaps it would be best to get every one to safety."

"This young gentleman is quite right, of course," Dumbledore said, bestowing a smile upon Tom. "However, it is impossible to apparate, and yet the two of you –"

"I'm afraid the circumstances do not play on our side," Riddle said disdainfully. "If you wish to leave this prison, you will listen to me." The blatant disrespect on his part did not go unrecognised. "My boy," Dumbledore began, "what is your name?"

"My name is Tom."

Harry saw the ex-headmaster twist his head as if to see Tom better. The effort was in vain, due to the dim light, but he saw Dumbledore twitching slightly.

"What, my boy, would you say is the best way to break out?" Dumbledore directed the question at Tom.

"I know which wards to take down without alerting the other ones," Riddle said aloofly.

It was evident that Professor Dumbledore smelled something suspicious, but he did not say anything as Tom set to work. In a matter of minutes, all the wards were down and broken – it was as though Tom had sliced through all of them as effortlessly as slicing through butter.

"We have dawdled long enough," Tom stated, blasting the door of the cell open. McGonagall and Harry hurried forward, but Dumbledore lingered behind long enough to call out, "Gellert, join us."

McGonagall's face immediately tightened in displeasure, her eyebrows knitting together in a truly intimidating expression. "Albus, you can't possibly –"

"Minerva, please," Dumbledore sighed. "I know what I'm doing."

She pursed her lips and lowered her head, but the hardness in her eyes was still there. "Albus, this is not a good idea, I'm afraid."

"I've already made up my mind," Dumbledore said resolutely. "It's for the greater good." He welcomed the fifth member into their troupe, smiling as Grindelwald reached them.

Harry was a little puzzled by the exchange but he turned his attention to Tom, who made quick progress at the front, assisted by Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

The performance was quite spectacular, with Tom and the two other powerful wizards thrusting obstacles out of their way in a whirl storm of scorching spells and dazzling colours. The feel of magic was dense in the fortress.

In less than one hour, they broke through the gates and escaped the grounds. A thick sense of freedom and triumph could almost be tasted. Dumbledore let out a chuckle, rejoicing in the moment. "I have not seen this world for so long."

"You should be back, Mr Potter," McGonagall insisted. "We will be fine, Albus, I and… Grindelwald."

Harry felt a fluttering in his heart as Dumbledore gripped his hands tightly and expressed his gratitude. "Harry, my boy, I won't ever be able to repay you. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said.

—0O0—

Tom melted back into his portrait the very second they apparated back. Harry smiled in relief. Mission successful.

As if on cue, there was a deafening crack and the bedroom door was forced open. Voldemort stood in the doorway with Daphne Greengrass trailing not far behind.

The danger in the Dark Lord's posture screamed at Harry to flee. Red ink spilled into his irises. Anger was etched on his handsome features. His lips twisted into an eerie smile that resembled a snarl. "Back so soon from the trip to Germany, Harry?"

As Voldemort strode in, rage flooded into every crack of the room. A few steps and a brandished wand had Harry cornered and cringing. He staggered backwards as Voldemort physically dealt him a sharp blow to his right cheek.

"You have disappointed me, Harry. This time, your betrayal has cost me Dumbledore. In setting him free, you will pay in his place."


	23. His Crime Is Ignorance

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.**

**I really want to thank every single person who has reviewed, and those who followed me through the story. My writing was absolutely dreadful at the beginning, but I like to think that I have improved.**

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER OF ICE CRUX. THIS STORY HAS ENDED, BUT ANOTHER ONE WILL BEGIN, A SEQUEL BY THE NAME OF DAWN CRUX.**

**I hope those of you who are interested in how this will proceed with bear with me for the next story too. The last chapter will answer many questions, but some will be left unanswered until Dawn Crux.**

* * *

_As if on cue, there was a deafening crack and the bedroom door was forced open. Voldemort stood in the doorway with Daphne Greengrass trailing not far behind._

_The danger in the Dark Lord's posture screamed at Harry to flee. Red ink spilled into his irises. Anger was etched on his handsome features. His lips twisted into an eerie smile that resembled a snarl. "Back so soon from the trip to Germany, Harry?"_

_As Voldemort strode in, rage flooded into every crack of the room. A few steps and a brandished wand had Harry cornered and cringing. He staggered as Voldemort physically dealt him a sharp blow to his right cheek._

_"You have disappointed me, Harry. This time, your betrayal has cost me Dumbledore. In setting him free, you will pay in his place."_

The burning sting immediately blossomed, spreading across his entire face as a mark of Voldemort's wrath. Harry could only shrink back and stare in thunderstruck disbelief. "How did you –?"

"How did I know?" Voldemort mocked. "How can _anyone ever_ guess? You had been so secretive and cunning."

"No," Harry protested weakly, his lips as dry as sandpaper. "No, I didn't. You made a mistake... I swear, I didn't! Please, I'm sorry, I didn't do anything!" He realised how feeble he appeared, but he couldn't bring himself to care; not when the Dark Lord was livid to this extent.

Voldemort was a truly terrifying sight to behold, a red insane rage leaking into his eyes and consuming the cold blue. His pale, spidery fingers twirled his wand in a disturbing way, afflicting a crushing, instinctual terror upon Harry. His face was maintained as a blank mask – a spine chilling facade – but the violent emotions swimming behind it were too intense even for Voldemort to hide.

"I made no mistake." Every twitch, every movement, every sigh was an indication of precisely how furious Voldemort was. He was, literally, on the warpath. Harry's vocabulary lacked an adequate word to describe a raw emotion of such power.

Without needing to be told, Harry knew that there was no chance he would come out of this unscathed. A tragedy would befall him this night. But he had to at least _try_ and claw his way out. "No…I promise…I didn't free Dumbledore! I didn't go to Germany, I…" He outright denied everything.

"Harry, you will not ever lie to me," Voldemort hissed. "Next time, I will cut your tongue out."

"But –!" Harry took a hasty step back as the Dark Lord moved lithely forward, halting in midsentence. "It's not a lie!" He flinched as a Cutting Hex sliced into his shoulder. After bringing his hand up to touch the gash, he found his fingers thickly coated in blood.

"Tell me another falsehood, and I will make sure you regret the day you were born. You may spare yourself some grief by coming clean. Perhaps I will even be _forgiving_." Voldemort deliberately drew out the last word. "Make your decision, Harry. Do not keep me waiting. Will you confess?"

In a state of insecurity, Harry debated over the Dark Lord's words. Ought he to plead guilty? The games were already up…but perhaps if he continued denying his part in the release of Dumbledore he may find a way out…

This turn of events was impossible. Where had he gone wrong? He had handled everything perfectly and played all the right cards. Tom Riddle had helped craft an ingenious, fool proof plan that proceeded as smoothly as hoped; McGonagall, Dumbledore and Grindelwald had all been liberated without Voldemort's stoppage.

Today, with Voldemort supposedly unwell and Harry's cancelled classes, it was unlikely he would be missed. And even if he was, the Dark Lord should never have suspected him – _him, _an eleven year old child of _all_ people – who could not apparate, let alone cheat the powerful wards surrounding both the manor _and_ the prison.

Tom Riddle's new freedom was a secret to all but Harry himself, so how could Voldemort ever have realised Harry's involvement without the knowledge that Harry had the actual _means_ to free the prisoners?

Even as Harry found his mind shrouded by these countless incredulous questions, he noted that Voldemort was becoming more impatient with every passing second. "I vow I was telling the truth. I know nothing about Dumbledore's escape," he said, with as much composure as he could gather.

The next responding backhand caught Harry on the exact spot where Voldemort had lashed down before – on his bruised right cheek – and sent him sprawling on the floor, causing him to bang his head harshly on the wall. Harry promptly understood the meaning of 'seeing stars'.

Breathing heavily out of shock and soreness, he lugged himself onto his elbows and recoiled away from Voldemort, whose eyes had, by this time, taken on a sinister red shade. "It's impossible," Harry panted. "…how did you discover…?"

"Ah?" Voldemort moved forward and forcibly dragged Harry to his feet by the scruff of his neck. "So you _do_ confess?"

"I –" he hesitated. "I…do." Further pretence would only make the Dark Lord angrier.

Voldemort smiled humourlessly. "Your plan was good…but not perfect. Harry, do you honestly think you will not be suspected if you were discovered to be missing during the time which the prisoners were freed?" He paced with a serpentine grace about the room.

"If you are interested, it was Daphne who reported your absence to me. Knowing this was the day McGonagall was arrested, she doubted you."

Harry noticed Daphne Greengrass for the first time; she remained in the doorway with a triumphant sneer drawn across her face. A feeling of intense hatred enveloped him. So it was Daphne who exposed him.

"When I first received news of your disappearance, I thought nothing of it. In a manor so big it should not be uncommon for you to go 'missing'… However, when the news of Dumbledore's flight reached my ears, I knew you were the culprit. Somehow, you had overcome the odds of your inability and managed the feat," Voldemort said. "Who else can it be?"

Harry's eyes flicked to Daphne Greengrass again. He desperately wanted to curse the smug expression off her face. What had he ever done to her? He had never been so tempted to lunge at someone and knock them clean off their feet.

"You! How dare you –!" The words erupted from Harry's lips unthinkingly; he couldn't have stopped them if he had wanted.

Voldemort, however, stopped them effortlessly. "Harry, do not forget who has the upper hand. Daphne, aside from being more accomplished in magic, has not yet betrayed me." The threat hovered forebodingly in the air.

"My Lord," Daphne suddenly said, her face dark with aggression, "excuse me for asking…but I was wondering if I could _correct_ Potter's impertinence."

Hackles immediately rising, Harry let out a faint growl, half aware that Voldemort's face had split into an evil smile. "Splendid suggestion, Daphne. After Harry and I have settled our business, you may do your part."

With a start, Harry realised he had just been given to Daphne – or _would_ be handed to her cruelties once Voldemort was finished with him. A shudder ripped through his body. Would he be tortured? Killed? The Dark Lord seemed furious enough to do both.

Daphne sent another provoking smirk in Harry's direction. It drove him to daringly retort, "Sniffing around in hopes of uncovering the faintest scent of treachery? Reminds me of a female dog." He didn't regret saying what he did.

The true power was in Voldemort's hands; if he wanted to pardon Harry, he would. If he wished to punish him, he would. He didn't necessarily need Daphne to do it.

Harry felt a malicious sense of victory at Daphne's savage snarl. And even more so when Daphne took a small, threatening step his way.

"Daphne, leave," Voldemort said curtly.

"My Lord?" Daphne stopped in her tracks and blinked, not comprehending. "Leave now," Voldemort repeated impatiently. "Inform Bellatrix, Severus and Lucius to wait for me in the meeting room."

"Of course, my Lord." Daphne bowed hastily and after throwing a glare at Harry, left the room.

When the door slipped shut, Harry and Voldemort were alone together. The intensity of the Dark Lord's glare singed Harry's flesh, but he could not find the courage within him to meet those eyes.

"Such a rash decision you made, to free _Dumbledore_," Voldemort spat. "You have only brought trouble upon yourself."

"My choice may have been quick, but it wasn't rash," Harry said, his voice almost a whisper. "If I get another chance, I would do it all over again."

"Brave words, Harry, and I want to hear you say them again when I am over and done with you," sneered Voldemort. "I do not think you grasp the true meaning of torture. Did I mention that Bellatrix's favourite sport revolves around pain? The Cruciatus Curse is her speciality… but even so…her excellence at wielding the spell is nothing in comparison to mine."

Harry steadfastly fixed his gaze on the ground, keeping his mouth securely shut. He hoped his tenseness did not show on his face.

"In a single syllable, your skin will feel like it is being feasted upon by a thousand wasps, stabbed by countless knives, stripped from your flesh, burned by an endless fire," Voldemort continued. "You _will_ writhe on the ground, howling for forgiveness, but you will receive none. The Dark Lord does not forgive nor forget."

If it was even possible, Harry's stiff muscles tensed further. Wiping his face clean of all emotions – or at least trying to – he said bravely to Voldemort, "What are you going to do to me?"

This simple question brought a bitter smile from Voldemort's pale lips. "I only wish to be repaid." He turned slightly, so that he faced the window, and sighed delicately. "Seven years of studying dark magic, decades of hard work, forty years of preparation to requite followers and to build a force powerful enough to rival Dumbledore's, followed by restless plotting, scheming and a near defeat. Regardless of the overwhelming opposition, ironically like a phoenix rising out of the ashes, I have led the Death Eaters to victory."

Wrath, once more, weaved into Voldemort's expression. "At the height of my power, I made my goal to duel Albus Dumbledore, come out as the conqueror, shatter _his_ perfect world, and to replace it with mine. This new generation is the fruit of my struggles."

Harry suddenly felt cold, strong fingers gripping his chin, and forcing his head up so that he was staring the Dark Lord in the eye.

"I have won, and I imprisoned Dumbledore in Nurmengard as a trophy, a constant reminder of the completion of my ambitions…" There was a deadly silence. "However, I have only enjoyed three years of triumph; even you must know how painful it is for the work you dedicated your entire life to to be ruined all in one hour by a disobedient little boy."

The message finally sunk in, and Harry's eyes widened. He would not get out of this alive. He had singlehandedly (or so Voldemort thought) reduced all of the dark wizard's work to rubble.

His status as Voldemort's apprentice would only protect him from so many crimes; his latest transgression – being as severe as it could possibly get – was not going to go unpaid.

"You have unknowingly destroyed everything I had attained. I offered you success and a place by my side as an apprentice, and this is how you rewarded me." Voldemort's eyes hardened. "What do _you_ think, Harry, I will do to you? I only wish to be compensated for my loss, but it seems that the request is beyond your abilities. All that is left for me to do is to repay _you_."

Harry took a step back, shaking slightly.

"Coming back was not the cleverest idea, Harry," Voldemort hissed. "But then…you did not know your actions will be found."

Harry took another step back, and he hit the wall. His composure was only kept up with the maximum effort on his part.

"I am going to strip the apprenticeship from you, Harry. After tainting the title with such filth, the least I can do is withdraw it. You are no longer my apprentice or ward, thus you are no longer under my protection."

He had not expected this. Shocked, was the word to describe it. He had wished for the apprenticeship and guardianship to be removed for so long… but now, he couldn't help but feel naked, exposed. Somehow, he had never thought of it as being under the Dark Lord's _'protection'_ – he protected no one.

"It seems, Harry, that a punishment is long overdue. How shall we go about it?" Voldemort asked softly. "What is a fitting chastisement for such a crime?"

"Look, I apologise for your loss, but I did what was right. I never pretended that I _liked_ being dark," Harry daringly muttered.

"A betrayal is a betrayal, Harry, and all betrayals must be penalized."

Suddenly, Harry felt icy tentacles of Voldemort's magic wrapping around him and hoisting him flailing into the air. "Let us see what Bellatrix, Lucius and Severus have to say about this, shall we?" the Dark Lord said from down below. Just before they left the room, Harry caught a glimpse of the empty portrait. It appeared that Tom Riddle had deserted him.

—0O0—

The sight of Lord Voldemort storming into the meeting room, levitating Harry Potter above his head was enough to render all three Death Eaters and Daphne Greengrass speechless.

As usual, Snape was the first to recover. "My Lord," he greeted tersely, bowing low, with the other three hastily following his example. With the Dark Lord's temper out of control, no one was safe.

"Enough dawdling! Rise!" Voldemort snapped. "Lucius, have your men recovered my prisoners?"

There was the slightest hint of a quake in the blonde aristocrat's shoulders, and as he stood, he looked everywhere but the Dark Lord's eyes. "My Lord…" he began, "Dumbledore is sly. Your Death Eaters have searched far and wide without finding a sign of their location… _However,_ I believe that with time –"

"_Time?_ Time is one luxury we do not have! With every second that passes, they get further away. You are telling me that my Death Eaters are not capable of capturing one woman and two old men?"

"Please, my Lord, we have sent two hundred men on the case –"

"Only _two hundred_ wizards?" The power in Voldemort's voice crackled with dangerous magic. "Order _all_ the Death Eaters to seek out Dumbledore! Lucius, you are to go with them, and do _not_ come back until you have found the prisoners!"

Still hanging in mid-air, Harry watched Lucius Malfoy retreat as fast as he could. He prayed to whatever god who was listening that Dumbledore, McGonagall and Grindelwald wouldn't be recaptured.

"Bellatrix, you are to go to the Ministry _immediately _and ensure that news of Dumbledore does not leak into the wizarding world," Voldemort commanded. He was instantly obeyed, and Bellatrix, too, left.

The Dark Lord turned towards Harry again, with a face the colour of thunder. "Harry Potter… Do you now see the full extent of trouble your actions caused me?" He clicked his fingers, and Harry landed embarrassingly on the floor.

"Do you now see the mess you created? _Crucio!_"

Nothing could have prepared Harry for_ this_ pain; it _dug_ into him with claws and rolled onto him in exploding waves. It tossed him off his feet and proceeded to burn him alive from the inside. Voldemort had been right – nothing, _nothing_ could equal the power of this curse – it combined the stinging of a thousand wasps, the stabs of countless knives, and beyond.

For Harry, who had never been properly under the Cruciatus, it made even the worst of pain he had experienced before feel like sinking into a soft pillow.

Once, in Diagon Alley, when Harry had watched Voldemort torture Ollivander, he had thought that observing the victim was worst than being the victim. The Dark Lord, in only a few seconds, had proved him outrageously wrong.

Everything _hurt_. He couldn't think. His head was bursting…

The Cruciatus sliced through his determination and self-restraint. He let out a scream. He screamed louder than he had ever screamed in his whole life.

And then… it was over. Harry gasped heavily for air, and he crawled onto his knees. He was shaking, trembling from head to toe due the aftereffects.

Voldemort knelt down over him sadistically. "How did it feel, Harry? That was only a taster of what you _will_ endure."

Harry tried to cringe away when the Dark Lord's hand settled on the curve of his back. "Quiet, you shriek rather loudly. Now that you have got your breath back, let us try again. Do not be afraid… this will only hurt a little."

There was nothing to shield himself with, and as a result, the curse struck his ankle. Harry heard a terrible crack as a bone shattered.

At first, there was no pain, only numbness and shock. But then, it came shooting up his leg. Pale and clammy, Harry gritted his teeth to stop the screams. Voldemort was finally showing his true colours; there was nothing merciful about the man.

"Oh, dear," came the velvety apology. "Let me see…" A hand clamped down brutally on his broken ankle. The agony became hard to bear.

"Let…go…" Harry said, through a haze of pain. Voldemort did eventually let go, but as soon as he did so, Harry collapsed on the floor – his ankle had been twisted in an unnatural angle.  
He wondered faintly whether he had been permanently maimed. Lying on his back, from the corner of his eye, he saw the pleased look on Daphne's face. She basked in his suffering.

"My Lord…" Voldemort turned towards Snape, who had a blank expression in place. "My Lord, Potter has never been particularly adapted to pain. If you intend on keeping him alive, perhaps he will be of more use healthy than half dead."

"Are you becoming attached to the boy, Severus? If I intend on keeping him alive, there is a chance I will take your advice – unfortunately, I do _not_, at least not for long."

Harry had predicted this… And yet when it finally came hurtling at him, it left him so shocked. He was going to die at the hands of Voldemort.

"I do not spare any fondness for Potter, my Lord, but the quickest decisions are not always the accurate ones."

"Are you saying I am wrong, Severus?" Voldemort asked, silkily.

"Of course not, my Lord," Snape amended, "I am merely suggesting reconsideration."

Harry, meanwhile, was dazed at the attempt to reduce his punishment on Snape's part. It was nothing short of shocking.

"Severus, are you questioning my authority already?" Voldemort said. "And over something so trivial?"

"No, my Lord," the Potions Master respectfully lowered his head. "Regardless of the happenings, Potter is useful to some extent –"

"That's _enough!_" Voldemort interrupted sharply. "My inadequate decision is final."

"Forgive me, I forget my place," Snape said. "I respect your judgement, my Lord."

That was when Harry resigned himself to his fate. Today, he knew, he would die and Harry Potter would exist no more; it was a wretched ending but at least it was for a good cause. If Snape couldn't help him, then _who_ could? Voldemort certainly had the means, but he was the one condemning Harry.

"You have had plenty of rest, Harry. It is time for us to resume," the Dark Lord said, with visible irritation in his tone – which didn't bode very well for Harry. "_Crucio._"

Anguish yet again enveloped Harry in an excruciating caress. He was degraded into a small, writhing form on the floor.

**...**

An hour later, he was feeble and drained of energy, not responding anymore to the taunts of Voldemort. Lying in a pool of blood and with a throat raw from screaming, Harry had been the victim of numerous Cruciatus Curses, other Dark Arts, and Cutting Hexes, all of them calculated to make him squeal for mercy… which he had yet to do.

All he could feel was ache and tiredness. He was so tired. His heavy eyelids were half closed. A low humming continued in his ear, luring him into the blessed realm of unconsciousness. Harry had fallen unconscious once previously, in the middle of these torture sessions, and had been kicked awake.

"Get up, Harry." Voldemort's harsh voice jolted him from his peace. "Get _up_."

He _tried_, he _really_ did, but the strength in his arms gave out and he crumpled. He attempted a second time without success. On the third try, Harry managed to heave himself from his side on to his elbows.

"Good boy," the Dark Lord said, mockingly. "Very obedient. But it's too late now." With that, Harry was booted down again.

A wave of resentment swept over Harry, even in his uncaring state. How could anyone be so _cruel? _He had _done_ as Voldemort ordered. The slight pressure against his torso reminded him of the forgotten wand tucked safely in his pocket. He could use it. Since the dark wizard was going to murder him anyway.

With a speediness Harry didn't know he still possessed, he whipped out the wand and muttered the first curse he could think of at Voldemort. _"Sectumsempra!_" Miraculously, it struck Voldemort – who had been caught completely off guard – directly on the chest.  
In Harry's weak state, it did little more than cause Voldemort a few mild cuts. On the other hand, it served very well to arouse the dark wizard's fury.

Harry was hurled thirteen feet into the air and slammed ferociously against one of the walls. The sudden pain blinded him. "You dare attack me, Harry?" Voldemort asked. The force pinning him against the wall was lifted and he came hurtling down. The collision with the ground probably broke one of his ribs. Everything was hazy, and something wet was flowing from his forehead.

"No," Harry gasped, wholly incapable of moving from his position.

"This drama is starting to bore me," Voldemort declared, his gaze burning hole into Harry's head. "Let us not worry about why you attacked me. I wish to know how you managed to free Dumbledore."

Harry's eyes widened. "Myself," he croaked.

"I suppose you mean you are the only person involved. Do not take me for a fool, Harry, I am well aware of your abilities… and apparating through my strongest wards without alerting any of the alarms is beyond your skills,' Voldemort retorted. "I ask you again: who aided you?"

For a moment, Harry was tempted to give the information away; after all, Tom Riddle had forsaken him but he had made a promise. "No one."

"Such naivety," Voldemort sighed. "I am can muster Legilimency. _Legilimens._"

A swift, silent force abruptly broke through the dense, rich layers of Harry's mind. Delving beneath the deepest secrets in Harry's entire life, the force ripped out the memories of the events Harry attempted most to hide.

Pictures flashed past Harry's eyes. He saw himself standing in front of the portrait of Tom Riddle and offering blood, he saw Tom Riddle walking elegantly through the room, Tom Riddle agreeing to apparate him to Nurmengard, he saw Dumbledore, McGonagall and Grindelwald, he saw other passing fleets of memories… and then, finally, a memory he didn't recognise… he was together with Daphne in the flower garden.

The silent force lifted from him and he was jerked back to reality. Additional memories came gushing back. He remembered the happenings between him and Daphne. He remembered _everything_. Voldemort must have seen it too, but his face was impassive. It just didn't seem so important anymore – not when he was about to die.

"Riddle, Tom Riddle," Voldemort snarled. "I may as well have guessed. The little…" He whirled to face Harry. "You have been tricked. Foolish boy, you do not even know your little friend's true identity. I will give you a clue: the last name of my father was Riddle."

Coldness gripped Harry's heart. Riddle. This couldn't be possible. "He is related to you," Harry whispered.

A chilling smile snaked across Voldemort's lips. "Tom Riddle was my past and my present. Not only do we share the same blood, but we are one. I _am_ Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he is me. Do you not understand how he can break down the wards that even the great Albus Dumbledore cannot? Do you not know how he managed to deceive the wards around this manor? Only_ I_ know how to control these wards."

Harry choked. "You were his enemy," he said weakly.

"I am," Voldemort agreed. "Tom Riddle possesses my cunning; in helping _you_ free Dumbledore, he had set both Dumbledore and Grindelwald against _me_. The irony…"

Closing his eyes tightly, Harry almost wished he was dead. Although he could not figure out the complexity, he knew clearly that he had been used by Tom, or by _Voldemort_.

"The only puzzling thing is how your blood set him free. By rights, only _I_ have the ability to liberate him. Unless…but you cannot be, that much is obvious… _Severus!_" Voldemort ordered.

Professor Snape stepped forward, undoubtedly shaken by the information revealed from the conversation.

"Take Harry away and lock him in the dungeons. I need to experiment with him before I cast him away."

And then, he was levitated out again, this time by Professor Snape.

—0O0—

The cell was unlocked, and Snape let Harry down on the straw inside. "The only crime you committed, Potter, was the crime of ignorance," he said, glancing at the dried blood on Harry's robes.

Harry managed a weak grin. "Let the invalid rest."

"I have business to attend to, other than you, Potter," Snape commented dryly. "Make sure you survive, until morning at least." His voice lacked its usual bite.

"I'll…try. Broken bones can't kill, right?" The forced joke sounded more phony than anything else. The door closed in reply.

When Harry was sure Snape had left, he curled into a ball and sunk into welcome oblivion. And the pain was left behind.

—0O0—

Above Muggle London, in the opaque sky, a black silhouette flew with ease through the clouds – without any support. The Dark Lord flew, with tremendous speed, past the insignificant towns and cities, past the forests, mountains, and streams.

In his hand, a yew wand was grasped tightly, and in his eyes, a dangerous gleam shone. He would recapture Dumbledore tonight; in the old man's weakened state, he would hardly be Voldemort's competition.

Dumbledore's stealth, nevertheless, would enable him to swiftly travel out of Germany and to an isolated area where he would be veiled from Voldemort's sight.

The Dark Lord changed his tracks and marked Vatican City, the world's smallest state with a population of only seven hundred and seventy, as his new target.

—0O0—

Harry was woken in the middle of the night by icy draughts that blew in through the little window of the cell. He shivered in the darkness. All his muscles hurt in a reminder of Voldemort's punishment.

He wanted – _needed_ – to get out of here. By the next morning, he would become a human test subject, a guinea pig, for Lord Voldemort. If he survived the experiments, he would be killed. It was hopeless; it would take a miracle for Harry to escape.

Harry stored his hands into his robe pockets, in hopes of claiming warmth, but froze when his fingers brushed against something cool. Fumbling slightly, he took the petite object out and examined it. Glass, flask, a glass flask from potions. They had been making the Animagus Revelare Draft, and Harry had cast a spell to keep the glass from shattering before stowing it away in his pocket.

He glanced up at the window in excitement. If only his Animagus was small enough to fit through the window. Feeling a faint stir of hope, Harry downed the contents of the flask in one gulp.

The transformation began quickly, and ended just as fast. Harry's skin had been replaced by damp feathers and his legs had turned into scaly talons. Testing his new form, he clacked his beak together. It made an odd, stiff type of sound.

He had no idea whether he was an eagle, a hawk, a falcon, a kite, a vulture or something entirely different. All he knew was that he had to squeeze through the little window and obtain his freedom. Stretching his wings, Harry realised with horror that his left wing drenched in blood. It appeared the injuries remained with him even when he had transformed into a bird.

Praying the damage wasn't heavy enough to influence his flight, Harry successfully hovered with a few flaps. His balance wasn't exceedingly bad, even with the left wing dangling slightly. Cramming himself into the gap of the window was harder, and for a moment, Harry feared he was stuck; trapped between freedom and the prison. But with one violent twist, he was free.

Letting out a shrill screech of celebration, he launched himself at the sky. He was free. As an animal, perhaps he would get past the wards.

**...**

The wards proved to be little of a challenge, not recognising Animagus from an ordinary bird. Nonetheless, with a body painted in heavy injuries, Harry tired quickly. He barely managed to make it into a secluded forest before his wing gave way and he collided head-first with the ground.

Blackness followed immediately. He didn't even wake when a pair of gentle, cold hands cupped him in a frosty embrace.

* * *

**Ice Crux has ended. And Dawn Crux will begin. Tom Riddle plans to overthrow Voldemort. Will he succeed? The next one revolves a lot around Harry and Tom, but Voldemort, Dumbledore and Grindelwald get parts almost exactly as big! Thanks!**


	24. Dawn Crux Alert

**Dawn Crux Alert!**

**Ice Crux has ended and its sequel, Dawn Crux, has began. I hope you will check it out. This is the summary:**

**As Voldemort's traitor apprentice, Harry finally escaped his guardian's torture and into freedom. Picked up by Tom Riddle, he discovers the true meaning of being a Horcrux and the consequences of freeing Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Voldemort's established society is brought crumbling down as the two powerful wizards reunite...and even Harry is unable to stop it. Sequel to Ice Crux.**

**And its link:**

s/9042430/1/

**If the link doesn't work, you can also go to my profile.**

**Thanks so much!**


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